Arcane Land
by nimruzir
Summary: The Silvan Book II: a new generation of pale creatures, the Nimúan, is born. No longer mindless, but shrewd and deviant, Captain Legolas and his elite patrol The Company are on a mission to discover their plan, and uncover the nature of this new enemy, one that can only be defeated by the most skilled of elven warriors. The Battle for Arcane Land begins.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: Reflections on Beauty**

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 **South-western Greenwood, Winter.**

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His face was carved marble; hard, strong - unyielding - ruthless. Yet those who knew him could not deny that behind the beguiling green eyes that hid within them the smallest flecks of blue and purple, was a softness, a vulnerability that lay at bay, harnessed by a fist of iron that was not easily pried open - not anymore. Time had tempered his ire, understanding had brought him a semblance of peace, and warfare had hardened his young mind, its inherent horrors lending him a deeper understanding of the nature of life, of love, of the tragedy of immortal death.

This was the face of Hwindohtar, the Whirling Warrior, first lieutenant in His Majesty's Woodland Militia, Warlord of the Silvan people of Greenwood the Great, bastard son of Thranduil King.

As he looked down into the rocky pool of still, transparent water, as yet untainted by the ravages of battle, he stared blankly at his own, unique reflection. The strong jaw and curved lips, the straight nose and high cheek bones. These were the features of the first great king of The Greenwood, the mighty Sindarin ruler Oropher - well-loved, sorely-missed. They marked him, mockingly almost, as a scion of the House of Oropher and yet - he was no _prince_ ; he was a half-breed Silvan-Sindarin child of the forests with the face of a Sinda and yet the heart of a Silvan.

A flash of emotion brought his reflexion to life and for a moment he was Legolas, for marble seemed to soften and mould itself into a fleeting expression of peace and contentment. He was what he was, and for most, that was unsurpassable for he _was_ Thranduil's son, a Warlord, child of Lassiel and the very forest itself, blessed by Yavanna, goddess of the Earth. Yet for others who had, at first, considered him a shameful reminder of the departed queen's suffering - Aglareb of the Norhad clan, he had become an oddity, worthy of both suspicion and admiration, of mild disdain and exalted praise - a paradox in the form of a beautiful elf with hair that was the colour of winter wheat and burnished silver, with eyes that were greener than any fern to be seen upon the banks of the Anduin, and whose beauty was fast becoming legendary, unsurpassed by any known throughout Elvendom.

He smiled then, tight and sparing, at the memory of that long year in which he had gone from novice to warrior, from ignorance to knowledge, from bastard to lord. It had been the most intense year of his life, for he had discovered his true family and then come to know the fate of his mother; he had been proclaimed Beriannor* and named Warlord of the Silvans and now, First Lieutenant. He had travelled to Imladris, too, and gained a father in Glorfindel, and an ally in Elrond. Yet that year had brought with it great sorrow too, for he had lost the first mentor and protector he had ever known - Lainion, beloved Avari, Dimaethor - the Silent Warrior.

His own, great Uncle Bandorion, had publicly challenged him to Baud Gwaith and Hwindo had had no choice other than to meet him in battle, ultimately dealing death to him with the help of the king himself.

Some said it had been too much too soon, that one who had never known his mother nor his father, one who had never had siblings, could not assimilate such change in so short a time and perhaps they were right, Legolas often mused. He did not know how to be around them, he knew. He felt awkward, stilted, a stranger amidst a family that was only now knitting together once more after the tragic events surrounding the departed queen and Lassiel, Silvan lover of the king, his own, enigmatic mother.

But perhaps he could learn, learn to let them see him as he truly was, see his vulnerability, his faults, his weaknesses. Perhaps he could stop pretending that he was perfect, impenetrable, unbreakable for he was not. Yet the very thought of showing that side of himself seemed unthinkable. Only Idhrenohtar and Ram en' Ondo had truly seen him, them and his aunt, Amareth. He had shown no one else for he had been forced to be strong, made to defend himself against the cruel attacks of children who had no ken of boys without fathers and mothers, no understanding of the hurt they had dealt out in their puerile goading. Hiding his weaknesses had become second nature to him and however much he recognised the trait in himself, he was powerless to change it.

Taking his gaze away from his own reflection, he chewed on a piece of dried meat as his eyes lost their focus and he remembered - remembered the child that had pranced and frolicked amongst the oak and beech of his Silvan home, Lland Galadh. There, too, he had fought monsters and vanquished them all; he had wielded twigs and branches that would transform into mighty swords and magnificent war bows, spears and knives and none could best him, all had loved him. He would canter bravely, proudly upon his wooden war charger, and his shining armour of woven linen would glint under the midday sun as he rode victorious into the fortress of The Greenwood that was his treehouse - Captain! Captain! oh, to be a _captain!_

And at night, he would sup on pea soup and fresh, crusty bread, and then sleep, when he would once again become a commander of elves, slayer of dragons and bane of fiery balrogs.

His smile waxed melancholic and he looked to the floor. It had been all he had ever wanted and yet - he had gained so much more, or rather fate, and the Valar, had pushed it at him, flung it all in his face and demanded of him he accept it all.

And he had…

Would that those childhood fantasies were reality. Would that it were all so simple, a child's game where right and wrong was so clear, where everything was black and white, good or bad - blindingly obvious. Would that the world were a place where there was no doubt, no guilt, no crushing _pity._ But nay, for now he fought the real monsters - and they fought back. They killed and maimed, severed limbs and gutted his brothers in glee - his _friends._ How now, was he, as a commander, as a _captain_ , to send them into the fray, to their deaths, condemn their loved ones to a life of grief and despair.

This was what Dunorel was preparing him for; this was the reason the captain would drive him so hard, so relentlessly. The harsh reality of battle beneath the boughs of the forest, the very real devastation that follows it, the sheer and utter cruelty of the enemy. Such things can surely not be faced and dominated by one so young? Dunorel and the Inner Circle would have reasoned.

For the past four years, he had patrolled under the guidance of the Sindarin Captain, and not in vain did the commander have a reputation. He had pushed Hwindo almost to his limits and then some more. He was the youngest lieutenant in the king's militia, he was their monarch's son - there could be no doubting that he had earned the title and not inherited it, not after the events that had led up to the gathering of the Inner Circle four years previously. Even so, the warriors that accompanied them had often times thought the captain overly hard on the boy. What Dunorel would forgive the warriors, he would magnify ten-fold with Hwindohtar; what would garner the troop a soft reprimand would be a resounding upbraiding for The Silvan.

And yet Hwindohtar did not resent him. Aye it rankled him and oftentimes he would seek out a quiet spot, away from them all, and give free rein to his anger. Yet once he had calmed he would realise that he understood, and in understanding came knowledge. He was young, and although he excelled in many things military, he had still been susceptible to emotional turmoil. The trauma of his own past, his inexperience, for seven hundred and forty-eight years was incomprehensibly precocious for a First Lieutenant, and Dunorel knew it. What the captain did he did for deference, in the hope that when his training had finished, the Greenwood would gain a worthy captain, a strong ally with which to fight back the encroaching wave of pure hatred that was slowly yet undeniably waning their strength.

As fate would have it, his command training had coincided with a sharp decline in the safety of the realm. Enemy numbers had risen alarmingly, and there had even been reports of strange movements close to the abandoned fortress of Dol Gûldur, and beyond. Even Lothlorien had reported an increase in enemy engagement. Something was amiss, and their elven commanders had yet to discover just what it was - the nature of it, and amidst this spiralling violence, Hwindohtar had fought and learned, had analysed and erred, had excelled and then fallen upon his knees, sometimes in despair and others in utter exhaustion.

They had spent months on end in the forest, with the occasional two-day rest at one of the nearby villages. But there had been no substantial leave, indeed Legolas had only returned to the fortress a handful of times and even then, it had only been sufficient for but a glimpse and a smile for his father, a brother, a sister. He would submit reports, collect supplies, and leave once more lest his absence jeopardise his patrol. He was its lieutenant, he could not fail them - not now.

He allowed a tentative smile to creep back onto his face, for his mind sought to bolster his mood, he knew, and The Company came to him; Idhrenohtar, the Wise Warrior, brother in arms since even before he could speak properly, together with Ram en' Ondo, the Wall of Stone for he towered over any elf Legolas had ever met, and was just as broad. Chance had made these three friends, but life had made them brothers.

Later had come Lindohtar, the Bard Warrior, and then Rhrawthir, Fierce Face. There was a Sinda amongst them too, Koron en' Naur, Ball of Fire, and two Noldor - Rafnohtar, the Winged Warrior, and Glamohtar, the Screaming Warrior.

His smile spread, but then a single hand reached up with a will of its own, and brushed a finger over one of his Avarin braids. His smile faltered, replaced now by deep sorrow as he remembered there had once been another - Lainion, Dimaethor the Silent Warrior - fallen brother of The Company. The Silent Warrior had perished, but the rest remained to remember him, just as Hwindohtar himself honoured him every day of his life, the thick - twisted braids that sat high upon his crown said it was so.

"Hwindo!"

He turned to the call of his name, his warrior name, for that was all he would use here, in the wild.

It was time to leave once more and so, with a steadying breath, he slowly rose from his waterside seat until he stood at full height, a subtle breeze lifting the tips of his strange hair to reveal an acutely pointed ear and long, dark brows that sat over eyes that were not those of Oropher, but of Lassiel of Lland Galadh - Silvan lover of king Thranduil.

"Hwindohtar, the enemy moves…"

With a clench of his jaw, he forced any remaining emotions back into the hidden corner in which he kept them. Legolas had gone, replaced once more by the Whirling Warrior. Now was a moment for battle, for service to his people and his land, and obedience to his king, even unto death.

Accommodating himself into the saddle, he checked the blades in his boots and his belts, then aligned the quiver and bows upon his back. One hand reached up to touch the leather and silver bands upon his right arm; archery, knives and personal combat, all that a warrior could gain save for the sword and spears, sat upon the strong, bare muscle - a warning to any who approached him - beware for _this_ is Hwindohtar, lieutenant of his majesty's armed forces, Warlord of the Silvan people. This is Legolas, son of Lassiel and Thranduil, Protege of Yavanna…

He - is The _Silvan_.

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 **Southern Greenwood, fortress of Dol Guldûr, below ground**

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A pale hand reached up, brushing softly over milky skin - smooth and unblemished. One finger traced the outline of an acutely pointed ear and then down a high, angular cheekbone and a strong jaw until it reached rosy red lips, delicately curved and all the while, intense blue eyes sparkled in curiosity and awe.

He was exquisite …

Cocking his head to the side, his finger moved back up to follow the lines of his own almond shaped eyes and the long, dark eyebrows that framed them perfectly, and all the while his mind grappled with the conundrum that had accompanied him all his life.

A rough hand, a warrior's palm smoothed down the silken locks of blue-black hair, long and thick that hung down past his shoulders, hugging the honed muscles of his back, the fruit of centuries of incessant weapons training for he had always known he would be the best.

His eyes moved downwards, past the thick neck and muscled chest of smooth white skin - hairless, perfect. The strong ridges and planes of his disciplined body lent him the perfect equilibrium, for he was tall, much taller than the rest of his kin and yet he was not stocky or burdened by his own bulk; he was fast, his reflexes almost instant, his speed akin to that of northern mountain lions for he had seen them, and had stared in jealousy and respect at their prowess, had coveted it.

But his lovely eyes did not stop their quest for now they returned to his face, followed the long, fine nose, down to his mouth, where soft, pink lips parted and white teeth emerged, jutting out acutely, the two long incisors curving down into a dangerously pointed tip - lethal, beautiful.

He smiled, lips stretching impossibly around his teeth, jaw opening wider than any elf could ever manage, for he was no elf…

This body could not be vanquished. No warrior could kill him for he was harnessed power, pale and lethal, terrifying to look upon for he was grotesque - and he was beautiful.

This, was Gra'don, General of Dol Guldûr. Not elf, not orc, not Uruk Hai but Nim'uan - White Monster.

His time had come, there could be no doubt. After two hundred years in which he and his brother had prepared themselves in both mind and body, ever since they had been born and then revered as the gods they were. They had used their superior intellect to bolster their people's resolve, teach them what it was they should fight for, and who they should fight in order to achieve it - give them a sense of purpose.

They had multiplied themselves, too, in the hope that their offspring would strengthen their race, so that they could better fight the enemy that stood between them and their goal. Indeed it had worked for many of their warriors had become larger, more powerful, more intelligent. None though, could match him or his brother for beauty for only they, were pure bloods.

They were ready - the armies were almost ready. Soon, he and his brother Saz'nar would put their plan into motion, for Gra'don had found a home for them all - _above_ ground - in the forest for there it was beautiful. There were trees and there was shade. Rivers and ponds and food in the waters and upon the ground. There was wood for fire and sun to warm his face and lend colour to the world. There were caves too, where the pure orcs could live for they would never adapt to the light, not completely.

They would take the forest, no matter that it was already occupied - they would simply kill any who stood in their way - kill the elves that resided there for they were the only thing that stood in Gra'don's way, that could pose a threat to his dreams of an orcish empire over which he had been born to rule - a realm he would take for his own.

It was the time of the Nim'uan and the founding of a new kingdom, a new Emperor to rule - over _Arcane Land._

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 _*Beriannor - loose translation of 'protected one'. Credit to Ziggy for the suggestion._


	2. The Last Test

**Author's note:**

Well now we are truly under way! It's just great to see so many of you back with me for this next adventure. This story poses quite the challenge for me, as there are issues I have never faced before - For this reason, I am taking it slowly, and updates should appear every two weeks or so.

 **Guest:** thank you very much for that! I wish I could answer your reviews personally rather than just calling you 'guest', but anyway.

 **Greg:** thank you! So am I :)))

 **Rita Orca:** welcome back! Thank you :))

 **Chapter 1: The Last Test**

 _"Hwindohtar!"_

The hum of a mighty war bow sung its song of obliteration as its wielder shot once, twice, again; muscled arms flexed and bulged, and the thick, long shafts sailed expertly through the air with a low, menacing hum, every missile hitting its intended target with a dull thud; killing, decimating the ranks of orcish cross-bow snipers.

The shriek of polished metal upon rusted iron grated on their ears but it did not deter them, for they bore down upon the black mass with a strength that shocked their enemies, their beautiful elven faces twisted into snarls born of both hatred and sheer effort - there was something about beauty and warfare, Legolas had often thought, something that was profoundly perturbing for they were instinctively opposite and strangely terrifying, even to the simple mind of an orc.

The thud of an arrow piercing flesh preceded a cry of pain from an elven warrior, who was thrown to the floor with the force of the bolt that had hit him in the upper chest.

 _"Noooo!"_ cried another, but Hwindo continued to stand tall, pushing the mounting anguish around him to the darker recesses of his mind. His stance was perfect, it had to be and his arm did not waver, it could not, in spite of the bloodshed, the growing despair that spiralled around him like summer dust devils upon the planes of Rhovannion.

Releasing once more, he took down the last of the snipers with a morbid sense of satisfaction, and then whipped out his short swords and moved towards Captain Dunorel's position, where the fighting was at its worst.

"Back, left," he indicated to his captain as he moved to defend himself from a massive scimitar that swung unnervingly close over his head. Shocked, he flipped backwards to gain space and time, and then moved to the side and scored a blow to the Uruk's side that did nothing more than enrage it. Roaring in unbridled wrath, the beast bore down on Hwindo with such strength it sent him stumbling backwards. What was _wrong_ with him?!

Finding his balance he bolstered his mind, for he was tired, his concentration slipping and this opponent was not going down easily, he realised. Swivelling his right sword to the left, he whirled around and sliced its other side, garnering another roar of frustration that vibrated painfully in his ears.

Dancing backwards once more, he moved in to attack from the front, but the beast's counter blow was so strong it was all he could do to keep his sword from flying out of his skicky hand - he was off balance once more and the nascent tingle of dread began to take hold of him.

The handle of the Uruk's iron blade seemed to come at him from nowhere, catching him in the side of the head with a heavy thud and sending him stumbling backwards and then, to his utter horror, to his knees. He was down and he desperately blinked to clear his reeling mind. He had no time to avoid the boot that crashed into his mid section, sending him gasping to the floor, indeed it was all he could do to roll out of the way as the scimitar came down upon him, missing him by mere inches - a blessing in disguise for the beast had placed so much weight behind the blow that it overcompensated and Legolas had just enough time to plunge both swords into its mid-section, in spite of his own lack of breath and disorientation.

As fate would have it, he caught its gaze as it anchored onto his own, as if to challenge him even in the face of its own imminent death. Such hatred, such mindless cruelty gleamed in its yellow eyes for a moment; but then there was something more, something Hwindo could not place. His brow twitched in confusion but before he could ponder on it any longer, the spark of strange emotion disappeared, leaving the dull lifeless eyes of a creature that had known nothing more than this - death.

Gasping as the beast fell dead beside him, he groaned as he tried and failed to get his feet below him. He stopped where he knelt, shaking his head once more, before trying again, and promptly crashing to the ground for he had thought himself upon his back and not upright.

A strong hand clasped his forearm and pulled. Hoisting himself upright, he reeled to the side once more and the hands were back on him, steadying him. He could not tell where he was; he could feel his feet below him but it felt as though he was lying down - his eyes were deceiving him and his stomach flipped miserably.

Someone pushed him down onto the floor and there he sat as one dazed, his breathing a little too fast. Had they won? Had they lost anyone? _Damn it_ , he cursed bitterly. His mind was working just fine, if only his eyes would cooperate.

"Hwindo….. how many?"

Squinting at the fat, fuzzy digits that danced before his eyes he tried to focus on the swimming objects and his stomach roiled once more. With a groan he closed his eyes and immediately regretted it, for they began to spin and he bent to one side and retched pitifully.

The strong hand was back, pushing him down to the ground. He could feel the solid earth below him yet his eyes told him he was sitting up. He knew what would come now and so he lay still, eyes open, and bore their involuntary movement as best he could. It would pass - it always did.

Every so often someone would crouch beside him and touch him, speak to him. 'Don't sleep', they would say - and he would not - could not, and so he lay still, and allowed his mind to wander.

The Uruk's face was before him once more - that gleam of malice and morbid enjoyment, one he had seen so many times and yet it had suddenly changed into an emotion that Hwindo had not been able to place. They had dimmed and then died - gone, ended err he could solve the mystery. The beast had served its purpose, was expendable to whoever it was that was leading them. And therein lay the question. Who was behind this? What was their purpose? What did they hope to achieve? There was a pattern, one he could not understand - not yet, for the enemy's movements seemed orchestrated, coordinated but to what end?

"Lieutenant?" came the flat voice of Dunorel.

"Captain," murmured Hwindo without moving his head.

"We have two serious injuries. Your thoughts?" prompted Dunorel.

"Position of the enemy?" he murmured.

"None in the immediate vicinity, no survivors."

"Break the patrol. Ten ride back with the injured, the rest of us remain behind and follow as we may."

"Good," he said with an approving nod. "Let me know when you can move once more," he said simply, and then rose to leave. He stopped though, and turned back and when he spoke once more it was softer, kinder.

"We will be home soon - I think we have _all_ had enough…" he said softly, wistfully, only just loud enough for Legolas to hear. He didn't answer though, for his skull was pounding, every thud a wave of eye-watering agony that stole his breath. It was all he could do to control his breathing and his treacherous voice that begged to be freed so that it could express the pain he felt.

They had been abroad for four years, with but fleeting visits to the fortress; indeed this last stint had kept them away for six months, deep in the southern regions of The Greenwood where the forest had been renamed Mirkwood. They had fought orcs and goblins, wargs and bats, they had suffered ambushes, and even the scheming malice of the trees that sought to confuse them, leading them into traps that only Legolas could aspire to detecting. It was a blight of some sort, not the kind that settled upon the leaves but upon their very life forces; a kind of spiritual parasite that induced madness, he mused, the sort that comes with witnessing too much cruelty, to much mindless killing.

They had all suffered injuries that had been dealt with in the field, and sometimes in nearby villages when wounds had been more serious. They were battered and bruised, tired and hungry, mentally exhausted, taxed as far as their strong bodies could be - it _was_ time to go home for they had had enough, and Captain Dunorel had finally relented.

Two days later, they were out of the Mirkwood. The broken patrol of ten warriors would sometimes canter, sometimes walk, but they were almost always silent, for service such as theirs came at a high price. There was no desire to talk of meaningless things, no inclination to humour or song, for they could think only of the memories they had acquired, the things they had seen, the hurts of their bodies and the blessed peace to be had in silence.

They would soon be home, and Hwindo resisted the urge to cry in utter relief. He would bathe and fill his stomach, and then yield to the demands of his body - sleep - glorious sleep and if he was lucky - oblivion. Only then would he seek out his family and know of the fate of his brothers of The Company, for try though he had, there had been no news of them save for the movements of their respective patrols.

Once he was hail, he knew he must face the Inner Circle, convince them that his time had come, that what Yavanna had charged him with, what the Silvan people had charged him with, must soon be set into motion, that he must do so with The Company at his side. He would seek out Celegon, enquire as to whether the other captains had been informed of his status as a Protege, for if they had not, then now was surely the time to tell them. He suddenly wished that Mithrandir were there, for although they had not shared a close relationship, his help in reassuring his superiors would be well-appreciated. This much had become clear during that now, famous Council in which Bandorion had lost his mind and challenged him to Baudh Gwaith.

Breathing deeply, he took one last appreciative look at the lightening forest, his soul only slightly less heavy now as the smell of healthy things slowly began to dominate over the putrid stench of evil, as the Mirkwood slowly became the Greenwood once more. They would soon be home and he would hide himself away until he was himself once more. No one would see his battered body, his fractured mind. No one would see his vulnerability, the emotions that clambered at the walls of his defences should he lower them.

No one could see his weakness.

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The fortress of The Greenwood loomed before them in the afternoon gloom. The sky had turned a slate grey and a steady downpour had already drenched them. A lone command echoed around them and the mighty doors groaned and then creaked as they slowly opened inwards and the patrol of ten warriors filed into the courtyard, silent and grey under the sorrowful, respectful gazes of those citizens brave enough to be out on this cold, wet winter day.

As was their custom, they would visit Nestaron at the Healing Halls. After that, Dunorel had told them they would be free for the next week, after which orders would be issued once more. Where they would travel this time, Legolas could not say - nor did he really care. All he wanted was a hot bath and a warm bed, food aplenty - and silence.

"Legolas," called Captain Dunorel, who was dismounting. "Report to my office tomorrow, there are things we must discuss."

"Aye, Captain," he saluted.

"And Lieutenant…"

"Aye, Captain."

"You have served well," said Dunorel simply, his eyes holding those of his lieutenant, the sparkle of a challenge behind them, a detail that was utterly lost on Legolas, for he was so tired his wits were not all about him, and so he smiled tightly and nodded his thanks. Turning towards the healing halls, something made him stop and he scowled and then looked back at the Captain. Behind him, the entire patrol had gathered and though tired and dirty they stood proud and tall. As one, they saluted him, their eyes lingering for a while upon his own shocked face, before they too, turned and entered the halls. Legolas stood alone for a while, still reeling from the show of respect they had regaled him with and as the shock wore off, he smiled softly this time as a sense of pride slowly spread over him, lightening for just a moment, the heavy burden that sat stubbornly upon his chest.

Inside it was warm and he shivered at the contrast. He made to follow his patrol but instead entered the recovery room and approached the open, roaring fire that blazed along the far wall. Kneeling before it he warmed his frigid hands under the intent gaze of the patients who sat there, mostly warriors sporting minor wounds they had gained upon the training fields. Others were returning warriors such as himself who had already been tended and simply sat and recovered their strength, sipping on tea and talking quietly.

They watched now as he warmed himself, observing the soft shake of his hands as he held them out to the flames, the way he sniffled miserably and blinked a little too often. They saw the wear on his uniform, the fading bruises and scratches upon his face and the blank stare in his extraordinary green eyes.

"Hwindohtar," called one Silvan. "How goes it in the South?" he asked, for there could be no mistaking where the Warlord had been serving these past years.

Legolas turned and met the warrior's gaze squarely, his eyes steady, emotionless. "It goes ill, warrior…" he said softly, before turning back to the fire, sniffling again.

"Here," came a warm voice, a soft hand upon his sodden shoulder and he looked up, into the concerned eyes of Llyniel.

"Drink this, Legolas," she ordered, pushing a steaming cup into his reddened hands which he quickly wrapped around the hot liquid, and then drank it down, relishing in the feel of it as it warmed his frigid body.

"Go to your rooms - get out of those clothes and into the tub, I will not be long."

He smiled tightly and then watched as she left, for there was work to be done and he had not seen her for so long… he had no right to claim her time, no right at all and yet she had not stopped to hear what he would say, she had simply issued an order, and he was too tired to counter it.

"Recover your strength soonest, brothers. There is much to be done," he said softly to the onlooking warriors as he slowly rose to this feet, his eyes meeting them all, and then walking away under their respectful gazes.

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"He is back."

Thranduil looked up from his desk, seeking Handir. The king's blank eyes told the second prince, the Councillor, that his father had not understood.

"The Silvan, his patrol has just arrived," clarified the prince, watching the proceedings in the courtyard far below.

"Are they alright?" asked the king, getting up and joining his son on the balcony, looking down upon the sorry warriors far below.

"As well as a warrior can be, I suppose, after serving in the South," he said pensively. "They have been a way for a long time," he added.

"Dunorel will have pushed him hard, I wager," said the king.

"I will go and see him …"

"No, don't. Leave your brother for now, Handir. He will want to bathe and rest. He is just as stubborn as Rinion; he will not want to show his weakness. He will come to us when he is ready."

Handir nodded at his father, not quite sure he agreed, and curious as to how he would know such a thing about his illegitimate son. Turning back to the window and the courtyard below, Handir pondered on the last four years in which the enemy had been relentless, their numbers increasing with every passing cycle. Peace was a thing of the past, and battle was their daily companion; they needed to act and soon, for if they did not, they would be overrun. He would speak to his father tomorrow, together with Aradan. This could not be allowed to continue for how long can a nation withstand the onslaught of wanton cruelty? How many sons can one realm lose before it collapses, falls into despair and defeat? Yes he would trust to his father's judgement for he was rarely wrong - but tomorrow he would not be stopped; he would seek out his youngest sibling and tend his hand should his brother need his support, for Legolas would not ask for it, this Handir knew beyond all doubt - to ask for help? The boy did not know _how_.

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His clothes were so sodden, his fingers so unresponsive he fumbled with the clasps and buttons until frustration drove him to pull too hard. Stopping with a sigh of frustration, he calmed himself and started again, slowly unclasping his quiver and placing it upon the table, his eyes roving over the poor state of his weapons for they were caked with detritus.

Next, he unbuckled his shoulder and chest protection which were scratched and scuffed. Then came his vambraces which he set respectfully beside his quiver and soon enough, he stood naked and filthy. Raking one bare forearm over his brow, he stepped into his bathing room and promptly submerged himself in the warm water that had been prepared for him while he had stared listlessly out of his window. How he had managed not to fall asleep was a mystery and he wondered if it was, perhaps, due to the unfinished business that nagged at him incessantly.

He needed to see Llyniel, explain why he had never requested to court her, make her understand that it was for _her,_ not that he was not interested in her suit. Their friendship was strong and yet, the nature of his service, of his duty, would keep him away from her. He would not burden her with that, tie her to a relationship with one that would rarely be with her, that may die tomorrow.

He would then write to Glorfindel, and report to his father and Handir, for there was much to be said of the strange movements of the enemy, their increasing numbers and strength. He would need to see Rinion and Maeneth too. Yet it was the thought of seeing his brothers of The Company that truly lifted his spirits, the only thing that did not seem to be a duty. He had no idea where they would be, not even Elladan. Indeed his friend had only been granted a ten-year leave of absence from Imladris, almost half of which had already passed, he reminded himself sourly.

Releasing his hair from the Avarin twists he always wore, he scrubbed at his scalp again and again, and then began on his body, almost obsessively. Releasing the filthy water, he rose and wrapped a towel around his waist, and then padded into the bedroom, hooking another towel and drying his hair.

He caught his own reflection in the full-length mirror in one corner, only now realising how strong he had become. He had already been well-muscled, but now, after these gruelling four years, the planes and ridges were more acutely defined. He was an object of war, a killing weapon and that was well and good - so long as he remembered not to think too deeply on it for if he did, the now familiar weight of anxiety would settle on his chest and set his thoughts along the path of darkness; the death, the blood, the incomprehensible cruelty, the yellow eyes that spoke of a hidden emotion, some truth that yet eluded him - the _nature_ \- of the enemy…

Picking up a brush, he began to pull it through his tangled hair, and then startled at the knock on the door.

"Come," he called only half-heartedly, and then smiled sparingly when Llyniel floated by, a heavy tray in her hands.

Setting it down on the table, she turned, and took the brush from him, and then sunk it into his wet hair, pulling the bristles through the thick mane of silver-blond hair. On she worked, for how long Legolas could not say, for he suddenly awoke, his head leaning on her soft, warm breast.

A caring, healer's hand passed over his cheek and his eyes opened completely.

"Forgive me," he murmured sleepily.

"Ssshhhh," she soothed, but no other words passed her lips, for though she was young, she had served as a healer long enough to have dealt many times with warriors who had served in the South - she understood the need for silence.

"Come, eat," she said, not waiting for him to reply, but simply holding out the chair at the table. Sitting obediently, still in nothing but his towel, she watched as he began on the food, and then turned to stoke the fire for winter was at its worst.

Legolas was glad for her silence, for there were issues between them, things that in light of his experiences during the last few years, seemed as frivolous as they were inconsequential, albeit he knew they were not, not to her. They did not know where they stood with each other, yet neither did he wish to broach the subject now; he was simply too tired, and he knew she knew that.

Once he had finished, she handed him a pair of thin sleeping trousers that hung low upon his hips, and turned to the cloth bag she had brought with her.

Legolas climbed upon the bed and lay back with a long sigh. He would not be long for the waking world and so he turned his head to watch as Llyniel treated his minor cuts and bruises, tutting here and there when she came across the evidence of the many injuries he had suffered.

"Llyn," he whispered, his eyelids already closing as he watched her.

"Shhh," she bid him once more and of a sudden, her blue eyes were before him, searching him. Soft, warm lips pressed to his own then, and his question faded from his mind - she had already answered it and so he gave himself over to the welcoming arms of sleep, closing his eyes at last and losing himself to its irresistible call, peaceful oblivion where no thoughts of darkness invaded his light.


	3. Dream No More

Greg: Thanks mate! There is always a lot of scene setting with sequels, and especially for this story as it was such a sprawling plot! There is even more of it in this chapter, especially with respect to Hwindo's family situation. Hope you enjoy it!

Violet: got it, thanks for pointing that out! And I am so glad to see you back :) Glad you are enjoying the story so far although a lot of it is still scene-setting and reminders from The Silvan.

 **Chapter two: Dream No More**

It was cold and he reached for the edges of his bedroll, wondering why the fire had been allowed to die, for here in the wild places of the wood, it was rarely good practice to slumber in the darkness. Only he wasn't lying upon the wet forest floor out in the Mirkwood but in a king-sized bed in the comfort of his own rooms in the Fortress.

Turning upon his back he groaned and then blinked until the room came into focus. Someone sat at his side and he jerked so violently that the visitor flinched, and then swallowed dryly as a curved dagger tickled the soft skin that separated the sharp blade from his jugular vein.

The frozen elf was a Noldo with hair as black as liquid onyx, and eyes that shone light grey, sparkling with intelligence, wisdom, and the promise of dry humour. This was Rafnohtar the Winged Warrior, once known to Hwindo as Elladan Elrondion.

Hwindo was about to open his mouth, but Elladan was already speaking quietly, his eyes following the blade as it moved away from him.

"You had us worried, Hwindo. I, Idhrenohtar and Ram en' in the Eastern patrol, and Rhrawthir, Lindohtar, Glamohtar and Koron en' in the Western patrol. We sent letters with our internal messengers, pleaded information from our superiors who would often times laugh at our anguish - Galadan was our go-between and through him, we learned of your progress, tracked your movements and counted the days before you would return to the safer parts of the forest. Alas they kept you away from us, held you under the mantle of darkness for _four years_ and I ask you now; the _truth_ mind," he emphasised, the sparkle of a challenge in his noble eyes as he lent forward, "Are you well?"

Legolas stared back at his friend, considering what to say, or indeed what not to. Sitting up and stilling his hammering chest, his back protested the movement, and then his tormented shoulder. He groaned as his head pulsed in a deep ache, a remnant of his recent mishap with a Uruk Hai and Elladan sighed dramatically.

"Well, that was most _illustrative_ , Hwindo," he said, the solemn moment gone and so he leaned further forward and focussed on the many scars that littered his friend's torso. "How many times have you been shot you _twit?_ " he asked peskily, his jaw working itself as he spotted at least three arrow scars.

"Four or five, perhaps - it is an archer's lot, Elladan, this you know."

"Still," tutted the warrior-healer. "You need some recuperation - has Llyniel set you a programme?"

"There has been no time. I arrived yesterday afternoon. I bathed, ate and slept, and now I am here, talking to you."

"Then come," ordered Rafno as he made to stand. "Your family is anxious to see you."

"I can't. I must report to Captain Dunorel. "No doubt they will expected me to attend the king's table, but I _can't_ , Elladan, not until I have centred myself," he said almost pleadingly, before his face hardened once more. "I have no wish for small talk…" he finished abruptly.

"I do not think they will allow you to escape them, Legolas. You have been missed. I know for a fact they have not come to you already only because the king asked it of them, but they will not be held at bay for long."

A tight smile was Legolas' only answer and Elladan rather thought his friend did not believe him. He had finally accepted and been accepted by his family just before his posting in the South and although they had made great progress, there had been no time to consolidate their relationships, no time for Legolas to really understand what it was to have a family, siblings.

Another groan brought Elladan back from his wanderings and he watched as his friend rose slowly from his bed and dressed absent-mindedly in his spare uniform and then began to braid his hair. He looked atrocious; his face was pale and drawn and faint bruises marred the otherwise porcelain skin. Elladan wondered how many times he had been clobbered about the head, shot and generally beaten upon for his movements were slow and painful. Yet he knew his friend would not appreciate his concern and so he masked it, only half heartedly however, for he knew Hwindo understood the nature of his irony.

"Stop fretting, Hwindo - you are as handsome as ever," he said with a smirk on his face, but Legolas did not answer, instead turning from his sickly reflexion and slapping Elladan brotherly upon the back.

"I have missed you," he said quietly with a tight smile. Aye he understood, mused Elladan, and appreciated the diversion. Yet that did not stop him from looking at Legolas appraisingly when his friend was distracted.

"What will Dunorel say, I wonder," began Elladan, steering their stilted words to other questions that would, perhaps, help Legolas to better orientate himself, to pull his mind away from what had obviously been a difficult four years of duty.

"I think it will be a performance report," he murmured.

"And what will he say?" asked Elladan as he fussed with one of the buckles at Legolas' shoulder.

"I know he is happy with my work, he said so yesterday."

"That is good. Just one more year and they will surely promote you, Legolas. Your dream is not far away any more," he said as he finished and slapped Hwindo on the back.

"Aye. Perhaps they will keep me here at the fortress for the rest of that time - show me the other side of being a captain - the protocols and the paperwork," he said with a scowl of disgust.

"Whatever," said Elladan, waving his hand in the air. "At least we will see each other more often, should that be the case."

"Aye - that is true," said Legolas as they both left his appointed rooms. "And what of you and Maeneth - have I missed anything?" he asked innocently.

"Not much. I am a Noldorin coward, my friend, but aye she is lovely your sister!" he exclaimed and Legolas smiled warmly for the first time. "And of The Company?" he asked softly.

"They arrived late last night and I wager they are still resting. I do not think they know we are here."

Legolas stopped mid stride, a smile spreading on his face yet he did not turn to face Elladan as he spoke.

"After my meeting with Dunorel, I must see my father. There are issues I must address, Elladan, things that cannot wait."

Elladan simply nodded his understanding, unwilling to enter that conversation at this point, it would do his friend no good, indeed, if he was not mistaken, he was already fretting over it. He had refused to attend breakfast with his family but at least he would not put off seeing the king.

"I will find The Company, later, brief them if you wish," offered Elladan.

"Yes - good, thank you, Rafno. Make them understand," he said of a sudden, turning to look at Elladan squarely. There was an apology in his eyes and Elladan placed a calming hand on his vambrace.

"I will. You have more important issues to attend to now, Hwindo. They will understand - this you know."

Legolas simply nodded as they finally walked into the morning gloom and strode across the mighty courtyard, under the scrutiny of warriors and civilians alike. There were no more stones, no more lewd comments and insults as there had been before his incursion into the South. Only curiosity lay in wake of that hatred, that and a growing sense of excitement and respect. Yet Legolas did not seem to register it at all, his mind set on the task before him - absent to all else, it seemed to Elladan.

A little boy waved at him excitedly and Hwindo saluted solemnly, albeit there was a slight, mischievous grin on his face and the child squealed as he tried to return the salute, much to his mother's amusement.

"You would make a good father," said Elladan quietly with a smirk.

"Don't even _think_ about it," growled Legolas and Elladan snorted, but then soon sobered as the quiet, introspective mood appeared once more.

"I will take a walk, Elladan; sit in silence for a while amidst the trees before duty calls once more."

Elladan watched Hwindo through slanted eyes, searching for the truth and finding it. The trees in the South must not have been friendly, and Rafno would have missed communing with them, would have missed the peace he knew they gave him and so, with a curt nod he smiled.

"Then sit and daydream the morning away; speak with the trees if you must but rest," he emphasized, satisfied when his friend met his gaze and nodded. Elladan read the words beneath, though, the ones only his expression hinted at. He was nervous, not for what Dunorel would say perhaps, but for what he himself had to say.

"I will find you later and report on The Company's status," he said, glad when a genuine smile blossomed upon the extraordinary face.

"Elladan."

"Yes."

"I missed you."

His own lips stretched into a sparing smile, and then he watched as Legolas walked down the stone path. He was fast becoming an icon to the younger warriors, and had already earned the confidence of his elders. The last few years had not broken him and yet Elladan was not fooled; they had changed him profoundly, and he had yet to decide if that change was for good or for bad.

He would return to the fortress now, and fulfil his promise to Thranduil and his children. He would report to them, ease their minds as much as he realistically could for they had agreed to heed him in this one thing, yet a pang of sadness hit him for how could he tell them, that Legolas regarded them as a duty, one that weighed him down. He would not, of course, but the knowledge was not welcome. He knew Legolas needed time and space to recuperate and however much they wanted to get closer to him now that he was finally home, the stress that would come of it must only be assumed on Legolas' terms. In return for their patience, they had wrought from Elladan the promise to keep them informed, and to do for their brother what they were, as yet, not close enough to achieve.

They would be though, soon enough, wagered Elladan, for they had come a long, long way. All that was needed was respectful distance for a few days until his friend was strong enough to push forward. Only then could he start to see them as a lifeline, unconditional support, a rock on which he could stand - one he had never had, one he did not, as yet, comprehend.

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Gra'don buckled his leather armour over his hairless chest and then tied his cloak around his neck. Slipping his shining sword into its harness at his hip, he then placed a dagger at his trim waist and a bow over his broad shoulder. The mirror told him his hair was correctly plaited and that his attire was as perfect as it should be for general, for a Nim'uan.

Striding powerfully out of his quarters and into the dark halls beyond, he stood tall and imperious as the group of four Uruk Hai approached him and then bowed low. There was something in their eyes, a lingering sense of apprehension, and even as their leader spoke, the expression did not leave their grotesque faces - they were frightened, and yet they were Uruk Hai.

"Gra'don," said their captain respectfully, its voice deep and raspy. "We have important news from the borders of Lorien."

"Speak," came the deep, velvety smooth voice of the general. The contrast was a powerful one, as evident as the differences in their physique.

"One of your children has been spotted by their border guard. They did not understand."

"What happened?"

"A small group escaped our ambush. They will have reported to their superiors."

"While it is just one, they will assume it is simply an oddity. They will have no reason to believe that there are more," said Gra'don, as if he spoke to a child, and the beady eyes of the Uruk stared back at him, unwilling to argue the point it seemed, or perhaps incapable of following its leader's superior reasoning.

Soon enough, Gra'don gave them leave, his shrewd eyes registering their relief that he had not been angered, had not been forced to discipline them. It had been inevitable from the very beginning of their plan. You could not hide such striking features for long - the Nim'uan half-breeds were too beautiful, too different to go unnoticed for much longer and yet - Turning, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. His uruks should not have allowed any to live - it was inconvenient for the Nim'uan to be discovered now - it was too early, there were things still to be done. He would send a message to his brother, warn him to step up their preparations lest the elves begin to search for them. They must be ready before that could happen - one more year, that was all they needed and the elves that inhabited Arcane Land would stand no chance against the combined might of the Nim'uan, Uruk and Orcs for they were no longer leaderless and scattered, but united; three races under one leader, one _Emperor._

In his quarters once more, he sat and stared at his face. He was beautiful, he thought to himself and then a long, elegant hand reached out and brushed over the polished surface. He frowned for incomprehension was back and he could not understand. He was a warrior, born of Uruk Hai, it was his nature to kill blindly, without thought and yet - He himself did not want to die, for if he did, it would be the end of this beauty, the end of his own thoughts and experiences, the end of himself, Gra'don. In this one thing he would renege his Uruk Hai heritage, he would strive to preserve his life and not give it willingly as he asked of others, demanded of them for they were not Nim'uan, how could they possibly understand?.

He breathed out heavily and stood once more. He would take the land he had found for himself and his kin, kill all who stood in his way, even the elves of Arcane Land, even the most beautiful ones. They were no match for him and his children for no warrior, be he human or elven, could ever out master a Nim'uan in warfare.

His head cocked acutely to one side and he wondered, did his brother Saz'nar, General of Moria, have such thoughts as these?

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"Lieutenant," said Dunorel, standing at his table and gesturing for Legolas to sit, which he did, first with a formal salute, and then a lingering gaze upon his captain, for the elf was pale and drawn - he looked just as bad as Legolas felt, he thought.

And then, to his surprise, Dunorel laughed. It utterly changed the captain's face and Legolas was struck by the idea that this was a different elf, one he had never met.

"I know what you are thinking," said Dunorel, holding up a hand for silence. "We are all in a sorry state, are we not?" he smiled now, waiting for Legolas to speak.

"I was thinking you look as bad as I _feel_ …" he said somewhat ruefully, in awe still at the light-hearted mood he had not once seen in his captain during their four-year campaign, until now.

"Aye well, that would be my fault would it not," he prompted.

"It is the enemy's fault, Captain. I am honoured to have served beneath you."

Dunorel held his silence for a while as he looked at the one who had been his lieutenant for the past four years, the most extraordinary warrior he had ever served with.

"I tried to break you," he began as he leaned forward, elbows upon his desk, eyes glittering in deep wisdom and experience. "I pushed you to your physical limits, I tested your emotional responses, I tried your strategy even in the face of duress. I did everything I could to crack your resolve, to tax your body so that you would _fail_ \- I wanted to see how far I could push you…"

Legolas listened respectfully, for this he had known. He had never taken it personally.

"And yet you did not - _I_ \- could not. Where _are_ your limits, Lieutenant? What does it take to break you?" he asked as he sat back now, his eyes shining with the hope of an answer; and Legolas gave him one.

"Death, Captain. It will take my death…" he said seriously.

"Yes," said Dunorel slowly, "yes I believe that is so.

"Captain…" began Legolas softly, "has Commander General Celegon spoken to you of - of my _status_?" he asked, his eyes firmly anchored on the captain's.

Dunorel peered back at him, for longer than was comfortable before he finally spoke and when he did, it was quietly. "He has told me you are *Beriannon, yes."

Legolas processed that information for a moment before continuing. "Does anyone else know?" he ventured.

"They do now. The entire Inner Circle has been informed …"

Legolas' nostrils flared and panic clambered at the doors of his mind. Dunorel must have seen it though for he was soon speaking once more.

"There was much debate, but none of it in any way comparable to the trials we put you through. You were accepted then - we will not go back on that. Your status is a military secret, save for the knowledge your family has, and of course Lord Elrond. We will not speak of it…." assured Dunorel.

Legolas allowed himself the luxury of exhaling noisily.

"You are relieved?" asked Dunorel rhetorically.

"Yes," smiled Legolas. "You cannot know how much, Captain…"

"Legolas- there is undoubtedly much to discuss, but I will not mince words with you. You are everything we thought you would be, and you will be everything we imagined you to be…"

"You are content then, with my performance in the field?" he asked hopefully.

Dunorel looked back at him disbelievingly.

"I submitted my report to the Inner Circle yesterday no sooner we arrived. They have unanimously accepted to execute my recommendations, effective immediately."

"I am staying home for the last year then?" ventured Legolas, thinking he had been right, they would let him rest for a while perhaps.

"No, not that."

Legolas sighed. "Alright, I understand, I know we are hard-pressed; it was selfish of me to assume…"

"Legolas…"

"Captain," murmured Hwindo, realising he had been on the verge of babbling.

"My recommendation was to promote to you the status of Captain."

A strange tingling sensation ran the entire length of his body and he felt his finer hairs stand on end. His body reacted to the captain's words but his mind fumbled with their meaning…

There was complete silence in the room then as he simply sat there, frozen - silent and dazed. He did not even realise when the door opened and Huron, Turion and Thoron entered, and then Celegon himself, Commander General of the Greenwood.

"Legolas…" came Dunorel's authoritative voice.

"I don't know if I have…"

"You have understood - _Captain_ ," whispered Dunorel fiercely, who could only watch in awe as the warrior grappled with the words - as if he dared not believe them - for what it would do to him should he have misunderstood.

"Legolas. Believe it - as of now, you are Captain Legolas of His Majesty's Woodland Militia. The entire Inner Circle says it is so."

Legolas stood slowly, his eyes wide and his face blank. Turning his back on his captain he only now realised the presence of the others who looked on with soft smiles upon their faces, all except one - _he_ stared back with a look of such utter determination, bright, intense grey eyes that screamed that this was _Lainion's_ find, that he had _known_ , that the Avari had always _believed_ , that this was inevitable and that he was _proud_ \- Turion.

With a stumbling gait, Legolas approached the first commander he had ever had and embraced him fiercely, and Turion, proud Sindarin captain, smiled as his mind conjured the image of his friend. Lainion stood there in his mind's eye, smiling back at him. But then the smile faltered and he spoke. "Guard him well…". Turion scowled at the wiles of his own mind, wondering why that thought had come to him so graphically. As luck would have it though, Celegon was speaking.

"You are the youngest captain in history, as far as we know," he said as he clapped Legolas upon the shoulder, "and we are proud you are of The Greenwood."

"I do not know what to say," said Legolas dumbly, and Turion smiled at him.

"Then say nothing at all. Enjoy the moment Legolas for you will be out in the field soon enough…"

Hwindo nodded, and then smiled as the knowledge finally took hold and he allowed himself to believe it. Yet he reined in his steadily growing euphoria - there would be time enough for that. Right now, he needed to to reveal his purpose, the one Yavanna had charged him with.

"I must speak with you, Commander; there is still something you do not know…" said Legolas.

Celegon's eyes darted to Turion and then Thoron, before returning to Legolas. "Should I sit down?" he asked ironically.

Legolas allowed himself a rueful smile. "Perhaps," he said, sitting when Celegon gestured to a chair before the table.

"I am all ears…." said the commander.

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"He is simply tired and sore, my King. There are no major injuries, just lingering aches and pains."

"And of his mind?" asked the king, sitting forward with his elbows upon the table.

"I wager he has seen much these past four years. He is somewhat quiet, unwilling to engage in smalltalk. He is not quite _'here'_ , if you get my meaning, my Lord."

"Oh I do. I served in the South, many years ago, and although it was not so bad back then, I still remember…

"When will we see him, do you think?" asked Maeneth, her face hopeful, and Elladan wanted to melt where he sat.

"I cannot say, my Lady," he said carefully, but with an indulgent smile. "The problem for many returning warriors seems to be the inability to focus their attention, the apparent absurdity of speaking of the lighter, more frivolous things in life when all they have done for the last few years is kill and watch as others are slaughtered…"

"Well when you put it like _that_ ," said Handir with a frown.

"There is no other way to put it, my Prince. It will pass and he will become more adept at dealing with it. It is times like these when I wish his relationship with his family had had more time to develop. He still does not seem to understand how it works…" said Elladan, as if he were speaking to himself.

"We can hardly be surprised by that," said the king softly.

"Indeed," said Rinion. "I say we just leave him be - there is no point in pressing the matter," said the Crown Prince as he sipped on his wine, apparently unconcerned; yet any who knew him well would claim that was simply a facade - a false wall of indifference beneath which beat the heart of a protective, older brother.

"And yet I cannot help but think that it is _we_ who should show him how a family works, the comfort to be had," said Maeneth. "In this he is not skilled for life has not taught him, but we _can,_ " she said, her eyes set and determined.

Elladan smiled at the lovely princess, lost himself in her frosty blue eyes and only Rinion's harsh call snapped him out of his dream-like state.

Handir snorted and Thranduil's eyes rolled to the ceiling in exasperation.

Ripping his eyes away from the one elf who could reduce him to a gibbering idiot, he bowed and took his leave, walking somewhat absent-mindedly towards his own rooms. However, his eyes focussed involuntarily on an elf that was approaching in the opposite direction. It was clear to Elladan that he would not stop and indeed he was glad of that, yet it was the expression the Sinda wore on his face. His brow was deeply furrowed and his mouth turned down at the corners. It was the face of one who suffers, the face of one who is angry and confused - Barathon, son of Bandorion.

As they passed each other, Barathon's eyes latched onto Elladan and as they did, his forehead smoothed out and his eyes slanted. There was recognition in them, and hatred, thought Rafno, not for who he himself was but for who his friend was, his affinity with Legolas.

There had been no forgiveness then, he realised. Barathon had not forgotten the Baudh Gwaith, when Legolas and Thranduil had killed his father before his very eyes, condemning him to the life of an outcast - avoided and ignored for no one seemed to know how to deal with him, how to approach him, indeed Barathon did nothing to encourage anything different. He kept the company of Brethil, son of Draugole of the Norhad clan - the _Norhad_ clan, remembered Elladan, those responsible for the death of Legolas' mother.

It bode ill and a cold shiver ran the length of his spine. He would speak to Legolas as soon as he was able for perhaps he should have a care - Elladan did not trust Barathon at all, for his father had suddenly tipped and lost his mind and who was to say his son would not do likewise, that perhaps there was some, inherent madness laying at bay, that would explode without prior warning and bring tragedy in its wake.


	4. Hwindo's Dream

**Christine: thank you! and welcome aboard. Hope you like the next chapter :)**

 **Ninde: Gracias amiga. Espero que te guste el próximo capítulo!**

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 **Chapter three: Hwindo's Dream**

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Afternoon turned to evening, and still Legolas sat with the captains. They spoke of the darkness, of the shifting patterns of the enemy and the need to act soon lest the Mirkwood spread even further than it already had. Yet he had not spoken of the strange emotions he had captured in the eyes of his most recent victims. His feelings were, as yet, too confused, too abstract - they would not understand for how did one explain that he had seen emotion behind the eyes of a beast reared for killing?

And so Legolas had finally broached the subject of his own agenda and a long and healthy debate had begun, the results of which had left him reeling even more than he already had been with his promotion, for he was Captain! _Captain_ , he repeated to himself, and they had not opposed his idea at all.

Four years ago, everything had been against him - opposition had met him at every turn and yet now, it had been so very easy to make them see what he did, show them what it was he wished to achieve. His confidence was bolstered and all he needed now, was the approval of the king.

Euphoria was slowly building inside him yet for some reason, he quashed it, irritated almost with himself for allowing happiness to distract him from his purpose. There was no time for frivolity…

He was startled out of his thoughts by Thoron, who smiled indulgently at him.

"Your mind wanders," he said quite unnecessarily.

"I am tired, Thoron. I beg pardon."

"No need, Captain. Time to finish this debate I think," he said as the other captains nodded their agreement.

"Come tomorrow for your fitting. Turion and Dunorel will be your witnesses, Commander.

Legolas' mind grappled with the word, with being called _commander_ and he almost laughed at himself, resisting the urge to shake his head as if he had just been clobbered. Standing, he held Thoron's gaze for a moment, before his eyes moved to Commander Celegon's. "I have no words to thank you for your confidence in me. I will show you - show you you are not wrong," he said with a somewhat forced smile, before adding, "'Tis simply …"

The severe, oftentimes dour commanders of the Inner Circle smiled sincerely at him, their hearts whispering that here was a legend in the making, their youngest commander, one they all knew would make history, one who had unwittingly wriggled his way into their sometimes cold hearts.

Soon, he was walking away, towards the fortress in a daze for his tired mind would not leave him alone. There was so much to think on. He wanted to celebrate, dance and drink; he wanted to plan and prepare, to gain his father's approval on his propositions, reunite The Company… He would write to Glorfindel and Amareth too, for this news would bring them great joy, he knew, and Thavron too, and yet he was so confoundedly tired.

His head was bursting, and he suddenly jumped when an elf stood in his path, unnervingly close to him now, staring straight at him with an intensity he had only ever seen in Elrond or Glorfindel. Idhrenohtar - the Wise Warrior, and behind him, the entire Company stood and watched.

His mind rushed uncomfortably back to the present and his eyes strayed, to Ram en' Ondo, Koron en' Naur, Glamohtar and Rhrawthir - to Lindohtar and Rafnohtar, and then to the one that was not of the Company and yet who Legolas recognised immediately - Galadan. He smiled timidly at first, and then wider until it turned into a giggle and before they knew it, they came together, standing amidst the curious onlookers and yet oblivious to them in their joyful, somewhat boisterous reunion.

He felt whole again, for the first time in four years. Here, there was no clumsiness, no awkwardness, no forced emotion.

Eventually though, it was Idhrenohtar who stepped back to look at his friend, Ram en' Ondo right beside him.

"You look like a spider victim…" he said flatly, his eyes dancing over his friend's face and body.

Legolas could not help the snort that escaped him. "Well thank you - you do not exactly look hale, Idhrenohtar, none of you do," he said, sobering now at the thought of what they had lived through these past four years, wondering if it had been anything like his own experience.

"We are all well, tired is all."

Legolas nodded but then his questioning eyes were back on Galadan.

"Galadan!" exclaimed Hwindohtar, truly pleased at the presence of the lieutenant he had served under on the way to Imladris.

"Hwindohtar," he smiled, clasping forearms. "'Tis good to see you," he said, his voice deep and commanding, his eyes soft and respectful - and curious.

"Hwindo," said Idhrenohtar. "We wish to propose Galadan as a member of The Company. We have served together in the Western patrol and he has proven himself to us many times. He is a noble elf and an able warrior with a vocation to achieve great things. He is already a master archer, like me," he added almost as an afterthought.

Legolas started and then beamed at his childhood friend. "You took it? You _passed?_!" he exclaimed.

"I did!" shouted the wise warrior, only now revealing the band upon his right bicep.

They hugged fiercely, Legolas slapping the Wise Warrior upon the back vigorously and making him giggle. Galadan watched them, visibly nervous for what Hwindo would say and yet inspired by the closeness of these warriors. He had already seen it with Idhrenohtar and Ram en', but the respect they held for this child was beyond anything he had seen - indeed he too felt it, ever since that day on the road to Imladris when he had realised who he was and impetuously called him _prince_.

"If Idhrenohtar says you are worthy, I will not gainsay him, indeed I know his words to be true, for did we not work well together that fateful day when Silor shamed himself?"

"That we did," smiled Galadan. "And yet we do not know each other well - I just," he stopped, struggling for words, "I feel an added sense of purpose when I am with them - as if I was always meant to be here - does that make sense?" he asked with a frown.

"More than you know," said Korn en' Naur, stepping forward. "Now what is this about Dunorel?" asked the Sindarin lieutenant. "We have heard the rumours so don't bother denying it," he added, his voice as curt as ever.

It had transpired then, realised Hwindo. Rumour had spread and Dunorel's gruelling training had become common knowledge. He wanted to sigh and run a hand through his hair, but his joy was too great to allow the negative thoughts to prevail and so he allowed his mind to stray where it would and he smiled, wide and genuine - the clouds that had shrouded him since his return lifting a little, his soul no longer so grey, so oppressed.

"It is well, Koron. He did what he had to, what was expected of him," he said firmly, albeit Koron en' Naur's eyebrow was alarmingly close to his hairline.

"Is the evening for us then, brother?" asked Elladan as he stepped forward with an ironic smirk.

"Almost," replied Legolas somewhat apologetically. "I must visit the king. After that, there is no other place I would rather be - we have much to discuss," he added, sobering somewhat at the import of what he would say to the king, indeed The Company fell into silence once more.

"Then go to your father, and then you rest some more, that is an order…" said Elladan.

Legolas' eyebrow rose and he stepped menacingly towards Rafnohtar until his face was a little too close to the Noldo's. " _Captains_ \- do not take orders from _lieutenants_.."

Elladan scowled as he stared into the bright green eyes that shone in fake irritation, for just behind them was mischief - and joy - great joy.

"Dunorel…" murmured Elladan.

"… has made me _Captain_ , Rafno."

Yet before he or any of the others could react, Legolas had disappeared behind the Wall of Stone and the Wise Warrior, trapped in an embrace so fierce, so heartfelt it brought a tear to their eyes as they watched for they all knew the story, the tale of these three from Llan Galadh who had grown together in the deep forest, under the ever-present shadow of a dream - _Hwindo's_ dream.

Soon though, they were all laughing and shouting and from afar, and Dunorel, Thoron and Celegon watched from a first floor window of the barracks, the Commander General's shrewd grey eyes sparkling keenly.

"We must watch him closely. The Norhad Clan and Barathon will not be pleased, and Bandorion's son does not fool me at all. He is not contrite, he is not forgiving as he would have us believe," he explained as he turned to his colleagues, his face set in stone. "He is waiting…"

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Scowling minutely and then schooling his features, he knocked, and then heard his father's voice bidding him enter. The guards opened the double doors and Legolas stepped inside.

The king stood in the shadows, visible only by the light he emitted, and the glint of his eyes and jewels. He emerged as Legolas approached him, and then stood silently before him, the deep blue eyes stripping away his protective barriers, seeing through his cold, unconcerned exterior to the cauldron of tumultuous feelings beneath.

It never ceased to amaze Legolas how much his father could impress him. Every time he saw him, he would be struck by his imposing figure, his commanding aura, his virile beauty. He could be dressed in simple leggings and a shirt, and all would hail him as king; there was no mistaking him, for he was a most singular elf, one that left none indifferent.

Thranduil stood staring at his son, his eyes moving from one inch of his face to the next, over his hair, his ears, his eyes, until he finally faced him once more.

"You have changed, my son."

Legolas smiled blankly at this father's words, and he wondered if his joy and his turmoil were visible on his face, in spite of his own effort to conceal the conflicting emotions.

"Yes, I have changed, _everything_ has changed in but a scant moment in time," he murmured as they both sat on a comfortable sofa before a magnificent hearth that crackled healthily upon the grate.

Thranduil handed his son a glass of wine as he sat back, still unable to wrench his eyes away from Legolas' face, for there was so much to interpret. Beneath the exhaustion and the pain there was a roiling vortex of emotion to interpret, and the king was adamant that he would not let him go until he understood.

"You have much to say to me," he prompted, and then waited patiently, sipping on his wine and watching for a reaction. The boy was uncomfortable and that did not surprise the king, for in one thing, Thranduil was very good - he read elven emotions so very well, even the ones that were being held prisoner now behind his son's eyes.

"I have much to say, that is true - I do not know where to start…"

"Legolas. We have not known each other for long - we do not quite know how to - _be_ \- with each other. So start, perhaps, by telling me what Dunorel said to you - you have been with the Inner Circle for the better part of the afternoon…"

"Yes. He - he told me he was content with my service and that the Inner Circle agreed …" he hesitated.

Thranduil startled and then straightened his posture. He had been about to drink from his glass but he lowered it as he braced himself for what his son would say.

"I am - I am _Captain!_ " he said, as if he could not believe it, as if the notion confounded him for his tone was indeed, one of utter confusion.

The words penetrated Thranduil's skin and rushed around his body, setting it alight and he stood, placing his cup on the table somewhat harshly and then turning to his son.

"Stand," he commanded, and Legolas stood as one dazed, only to be grabbed and fiercely hugged to his father's chest, the strong arms tightening around his back and of a sudden, the numbness was gone and he allowed himself to believe it - believe that his dream was no longer, for it had become reality and he was complete. All it had taken was to say it, aloud, to his father.

"How proud can a father be?" whispered Thranduil. "How much I admire you cannot be put into words. Seven hundred and forty-eight years old, and a captain, a _commander!_ Oh my Silvan son…"

Legolas smiled into his father's chest albeit he felt awkward, before Thranduil held him at arm's length, unwilling to draw out his son's discomfort.

"Now sit, and tell me all!"

With a steadying breath, he did. He told his father of the ensuing debate with the Inner Circle, their consent to his plans with the sole condition of the approval of the King and as Legolas talked, the king listened, and the Sun finally sank below the horizon and darkness was upon them.

He had called for the evening meal to be served where they talked, and had sent a message to his family that he was not to be disturbed. This moment must not be broken, he realised, not only because the information they were sharing was paramount to the kingdom, but because it was the first moment alone with his son, it was an opportunity to shorten the gap between them, to know the boy a little better and for himself to show just a little of the elf behind the stony facade of a king.

A small round table had been exquisitely set upon the king's balcony that looked out over the Evergreen Wood, where Thranduil and Legolas now sat amidst the orange haze of candle light and the blue tinge of a full moon. Sumptuous dishes of meats, vegetables and cheeses had been brought, and Legolas could not help but give in to his still, food-starved body.

"So," began the king, as he watched indulgently, "you will create this specialised patrol - The Company - eleven strong, and you will put them through a training programme of your own making. You wish to customise your uniforms and introduce new protocols. You wish to test run Elladan's project of warrior-healers and then bring the whole thing together, within the space of one year - is that essentially the case?"

"Yes - although that is just the preparation stage. After that, our mission will be to ride the forests, and heed the call of the Captains should we be needed. We will be an itinerant patrol if you will. Our priority is the defence of the forest for that is what Yavanna requires of me, and as such I must have the authority to decide our destinations. This fits well with what the Silvan people have charged me with and what I ask is that I be given the one year preparation period I need, and then the command I need to take The Company where I will…"

The piercing green eyes were on the king, open and direct, willing him to see the logic of his words and Thranduil did, but there were conditions to his acceptance.

"As to the year you need, it is granted with one condition."

Legolas looked back at his father in mounting hope and concern.

"You are Master Archer, Master of Short Swords and Close Combat. You are missing your Sword Master and - the Spears…" if you are to have the authority to decide your own movements, I would have you Grand Master - master of _the five_ weapons."

Legolas' young eyes clearly showed his surprise at the king's words. He had not had the time to tell him of his progress, of his success in his combat masters yet his father had known and an as-yet unknown sensation came to him - he was being monitored, followed from a distance.

Chancing a quick glance at Thranduil, their eyes met, and the sadness Hwindo saw behind his father's Sindarin blue eyes told him his mind had been read to perfection. He felt inadequate again for he was not accustomed to this blood tie, these sensations and feelings that seemed to come from nowhere, that were in the blood and could not be refuted, even though the person who sat before him was almost a stranger to him.

Looking away for a moment, he turned back and this time the feelings were controlled.

"Father, there are no spear masters in the Greenwood…" he began, but his expression changed as he suddenly realised what it was Thranduil was saying.

"You would have me travel to _Imladris_?"

"Yes," smiled the king. Have Glorfindel lead you to mastery with the sword, and their Noldorin spear master show you how to wield the Spear of Doriath - your grandfather's weapon."

"It could be done…" murmured Legolas as his eyes slipped to the side. "It would not interrupt the training process nor any other part of the project, and it would be convenient to have Glorfindel's help."

"It is a good idea, Legolas," said Thranduil. "You have been in the South for so long - to carry out your plans you need peace of mind, rest and recuperation for I am not blind - Dunorel has pushed you almost to your limits, and _his_ I wager - tell me I am wrong…" he said with the sparkle of a challenge in his eyes.

After a moment of hesitation, Legolas answered him. "You are not wrong. My only consolation is that he is just the worse for wear as I am," he smiled. "So long as it is one year and no longer - the forest must be tended, and the Silvan people appeased," he added. "I will need funds, father - I have worked out a sum I will submit to you tomorrow morning."

"I will look at it and discuss it all with Aradan. Speaking of which, have you seen Llyniel? he asked lightly.

"Only briefly," he sighed. "Our relationship was over even before it began I think…"

"You still like her though?"

"Oh aye- but I cannot pay her the attention I must in order for our relationship to move forward. It would be unfair to broach the subject once more, and then leave her again, for who knows how long."

"Do not push it, Legolas. Do not close any doors," said Thranduil with a smile as he stood and gestured for his son to join him in the lounge. He was enjoying this, his first moment of bonding with his Silvan son, for Lassiel was inside him, he reminded himself; a part of her was standing before him now and the king was inexorably drawn to it, fascinated by it.

Some time later, the king's regal crown lay opulently upon the table, his silver hair falling about his face, lying over the velvet of his cloak which now hung loosely around him. He smiled and Legolas returned it, wondering if his father was thinking the same as he was. There was still so much to learn about each other, but this night had been their first opportunity to converse, not under duress but in comfort and peace and although he still felt awkward and clumsy, he was beginning to enjoy the attention that came with having a father, albeit as yet, he felt utterly incapable of returning it, yet when his eyes met those of his father, the spark of mischief had returned.

"What is it?" asked the king as he placed one booted foot upon the table, and then the other, crossing his feet at the ankles.

"I was just thinking…. _captain_ … said Legolas in awe and then smiled even wider. "You have no idea, father, no idea what this means to me, how much I have worked for this moment."

"I think I do. I have watched you closely this past year and I hold myself as an excellent judge of character. I have seen your determination, your hunger for knowledge, Glorfindel's report, the Inner Circle - I have an idea, son. Your body too, speaks of your sacrifice - you will be a great commander - you will _move_ them, I think, just as my own father did."

Before long, Legolas was beaming. "I have - so many plans, so many things I would change," he said as a hand reached up and began to pull out his braids. "Even the elements of our standard issue uniforms. They are Sindarin, through and through, and yet those that wear it are mostly Silvan. I want distinctives, regiments, specialists if you will. Archers, swordsman, foot soldiers, mounted guard - we already have the Home Guard, but everyone else is denominated a 'warrior'. If we give them identity, speciality, it can only be beneficial, both on a practical and personal level," he said, pulling at the last of his braids until his hair fell heavily around him and Thranduil's eyes roved appreciatively over it.

"Once you have created your Company, we will discuss those things - one year Legolas, after which I want you here, whole and hale, ready to carry out your duty to Yavanna, and to me," he said as he poured more wine and pushed the bottle over to Legolas.

"Did you know you have other colours in your eyes?" asked the king in fascination.

Legolas met his father's gaze for a moment before answering. "Glorfindel told me once, in Imladris," he said, somewhat sleepily.

It was late, yet more than this his four year tour in the South had left him unwell.

"Father,"

"Hum…"

"I should leave. Elladan will have my guts for bowstrings if he knew I was still awake and drinking wine. I will see you tomorrow with the breakdown I have prepared. Will you excuse me?"

"I have no desire to witness the wrath of of an angry Noldorin healer, Legolas. Go and sleep," said the king, hopeful that his disappointment did not show. "Perhaps tomorrow you will see your brothers and sister…"

Legolas smiled and then nodded. "Of course," he said with a nod, and then left, bound for his own rooms and blissful oblivion. He had not met with The Company, and so, he promised to himself that the first thing he would do tomorrow would be to seek them out. He finally had the blessings of the Inner Circle and the King to set his plans into motion, all that was left now, was to tell his warrior brothers that their time to shine had come.

He smiled, and then he remembered that he still had not seen Handir, Maeneth, Rinion, and neither had he spoken with Llyniel. A pang of guilt took him completely by surprise and he scowled as he turned on his side and pulled the blankets higher over his shoulders.

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The child stood grinning before him. One front tooth was crooked, the result of a stray fist during their last great battle. The grin became wider and the strange green eyes lit up in joy and enthusiasm.

Legolas opened his eyes, only to find himself grinning at something he could not quite pinpoint. A good dream, he realised, whatever it had been

He could feel brilliant sunlight upon his face even though it was winter, and he revelled for a moment, in the warmth of his bed.

Opening his eyes, a sense of peace and wellbeing clicked into place and he smiled. He felt rested and his body did not pain him as much as it had. And then Dunorel's face was before his mind's eyes and he remembered - he was _Captain!_

Sitting up, suddenly alive with the thrill of what this day would bring, he looked out of his open window and realised it was already late morning. He had slept through breakfast and well on the way to lunch, and so, dressing in his lieutenant's uniform, perhaps for the last time, he plaited his hair and bunched the Avarin braids deftly upon his head, and then left for the barracks, nodding and smiling to all who passed him by.

The face of a child floated before his mind's eye, his own face, round and soft yet set in a fierce snarl - a warrior's snarl. _'You will not pass me! I will kill you with my sword!"_ he shouted, back straightening, head tilting back in challenge, the heavy, gnarled branch held in a ready stance before him. His auburn-haired enemy smirked back at him, sparkling blue eyes answering the challenge, in his own hand a thinner branch - almost a twig came to meet the fierce blond warrior's legendary wooden weapon.

His eyes welled quite unexpectedly and he startled, desperately schooling his mind's strange wanderings.

The barracks were alive this morning, for a new batch of novice warriors were being put through their basic training and a nostalgic smile graced his face as his eyes floated over them, wondering now if he would one day command these boys. 'Boys', he snorted to himself. Most of them were older than he was!

 _'that was no nuthatch, Legolas, that was an elven warrior…'_

He had been exactly where they were now, not so many years ago - so young, so green, so utterly oblivious to life, to his own history and origins. A crushing sense of pity slammed into him and his eyes welled once more.

Some of recruits must have faltered for soon the instructors were screaming at them to apply themselves, their harsh words echoing around the trees beyond and bringing a fond smile to Hwindo's face.

"Captain," came the deep voice of Thoron, and Hwindo visibly jumped. Thoron frowned for a moment before saluting Greenwood's youngest captain, equal to equal.

"Come - you have an appointment with the seamstress!" said a jolly Thoron and Legolas looked at him questioningly.

"It seems we are both in high spirits this day," smiled Legolas.

"Well I cannot say you look joyous Legolas - there is something about you I cannot pinpoint."

Legolas shook his head. "My mind is playing games with me, Thoron. I keep seeing myself as a young lad, playing warriors with Idhren and Ram en' - it is as if - as if I am losing him…"

Thoron turned and looked closely at his young friend. "You are not losing him, Legolas. 'Tis simply that that child had a dream, and the dream has come to fruition — 'tis what your mind is telling your stubborn heart to believe, boy. We realised yesterday, saw your confusion, knew that you had yet to react."

Legolas listened to the older, veteran warrior and then he smiled. He was right, and of a sudden he understood. His mind was telling him to rejoice - to not forget what this had meant to him all of his life - to enjoy the moment - to move forward and not drown in his own sense of responsibility, lose his sense of pride under the sheer weight of all that still needed to be done.

The smile became so wide he could no longer contain his teeth, and then he laughed and slapped Thoron upon the shoulder.

"Yes - yes! Valar Thoron I am a case to study - I should shout it from the treetops! Drink Dorwinion, dance around the fire pits, I should…."

"Hold it, hold it!" he smiled. "Get your uniform first, Captain, brief your men, and I will sit and wait for the gossip. Elbereth, do not ask me why, Legolas for I cannot say what it is - it is almost as if Spring were here and I a _Silvan_!"

Legolas guffawed at the notion of the mighty Sindarin warrior skipping amidst the spring trees and his smile widened as it waxed mischievous.

Entering the stone building where the Greenwood's military made its home, they strode into a room where two elves stood deep in debate as they rummaged through the small pieces of cloth that lay strewn upon a table.

"Well, I will leave you," said Thoron. "By the time you leave these barracks you will be wearing the uniform of a commander," he smiled and Legolas smiled back, wide and ecstatic.

Indeed it was just as Thoron had said, and Legolas walked back to the fortress under the weak, afternoon sun, its timid rays catching the exquisitely wrought metal of his chest plate and pauldrons.

He felt lordly, and yet strangely ill-equipped to fight. The armour was light and yet it hindered his movements somewhat; he could not imagine performing close combat like this, at least not if he was to use his own moves. The fabric would snag, the thin metal chafe over his skin and impede many of his more, acrobatic moves.

Perhaps it was simply a question of adjusting to it, but to Hwindohtar, at that precise moment, it seemed more of a peace-time uniform than the protective equipment of a woodland warrior.

"Hwindo!" called Rafnohtar as he jogged over and fell into step with his friend.

"Well well," he began, his hands reaching for the ornate armour, a sly smile on his lips.

"Leave me be!" growled Legolas albeit a resigned smile had taken up residence on his face, his own hand batting away Elladan's questing fingers. He had known this would come, the good-hearted mockery his friends would subject him to. Yet his friend soon sobered and the edge of urgency in his voice was not lost on Hwindohtar.

"The Company has been called for duty, some to the East, others to the West - we must ride tomorrow…" he said, his eyes slipping sideways as he waited for Hwindo's reaction.

"No - you can ignore that, Lieutenant; _that_ , is not your destiny…"

"Ignore it? are you _mad_?"

Legolas abruptly stopped and turned to Elladan who turned to face him, a deep scowl on his face.

"Muster them, tomorrow, at first light at the barracks. You will all report for duty yes, but not to the East or West - you will report to _me_ …" he said, his green eyes gleaming with the challenge, observing as understanding slowly transformed his friend's face.

"It is official? You have succeeded in creating your own patrol?" asked Rafnohtar, his face alight, eyes heavy, breathing a little too fast.

Legolas watched him, and then slowly smiled until his teeth showed and he spoke once more.

"Report for duty at first light, Lieutenant."

Elladan searched his eyes for his friend had not answered him, but had left the question floating in the air; there was no confusing that look upon his face though, and when they went their own ways for the rest of the day, Elladan's heart began to soar.

Above them, dull, blue eyes observed them from behind a pane of glass. ' _Captain_ …' he spat to himself. ' _You do not deserve that honour,_

 _'Murderer, kin-slayer_ …'

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Light-hearted chuckling floated around the small dining area, where six elves sat eating and drinking. One was a king, another was lieutenant and prince and the third was a captain, a warlord albeit this evening he dressed as a civilian. Beside him, sat a Noldorin lieutenant and healer, and opposite him sat the princess, silver and blue, eyes riveted on the dark Noldo whose eyes would always gravitate to hers.

Legolas had greeted his siblings for the first time since his arrival, amidst a sense of resigned duty and genuine fondness. But the awkwardness was back, his own inability to deal with his feelings frustrating him once more.

Some time had passed and he sat now, listening to them as understanding slowly began to dawn on him. They were not including him in their conversations, made no attempt to draw him in. Perhaps he had underestimated them, he mused, and he suddenly felt like a child seeking to escape the wrath of his mother. Indeed as the evening progressed, he became more and more convinced that they understood his dilemma, his shortcomings in dealing with family life.

His eyes slipped casually to his sister, Maeneth, who sat smiling as she listened to Elladan's explanation of how to successfully dry and store kingsfoil but she surprised him when her own, light blue eyes landed knowingly upon him.

Maeneth was only slightly older than himself and yet, in the ways of the heart she was so much wiser, and he did not think it was only the fact that she had had a family, a solid base on which to thrive. There was something else, an innate quality neither of her brothers possessed. She was intuitive with other people's feelings, in the same way that Handir was intuitive with other people's reasoning.

He could not help the smile that pulled at his lips, and he rather thought his face had told his sister what she had, perhaps, been searching for. He was grateful for her wisdom for here he sat, eating and drinking, simply listening to others, as if he were being politely invited to join them, rather than duty bound to do so.

He was comfortable with this, he decided and when he returned to his meal he felt lighter, more relaxed.

"Now," began the king, and the siblings and their guest fell into obedient silence. "Tomorrow, there will be a small gathering for there are things to be discussed and announced. Please dress formally for though we will be in the presence of friends and family, I require your best effort."

Handir's eyebrows rose and Rinion's eyes narrowed. Maeneth's eyes swivelled to Legolas, and Legolas - a fleeting expression of panic crossed his face, one she saw and interpreted, before they moved to land on Elladan, who was smiling softly.

He knew, she realised. Elladan, Legolas and the king held a secret, one that would be revealed tomorrow.


	5. The Company

Earthdragon: hey, it's great to see you again for the sequel, I really look forward to your comments on the story! Barathon is a problem yes and he will certainly be causing trouble later on - how? can't say LOL. Legolas indeed does have a few social issues with his family - he's just not used to having a family, still can't relax in their presence.

Ninde: me alegro de que estés al día - mis historias tienden a ser largas - como te pierdes luego te puedes agobiar! LOL

Christine: hello! OK, regarding Legolas' apparent inability to deal with his family - he is still learning how to do this. Not enough time has passed for him to feel completely comfortable with them, with the exception of Handir. He's getting there though! You are welcome to giving Hwindo a cameo in your story and having it translated into Italian would be awesome! I'd love to see that happen. Let me know if you would like to mail me about it :)

Guest: I will indeed continue, I am glad you are enjoying it so far!

Rita Orca: glad you're enjoying it, and that your exams have finished!

GB: Yes, he must! But will he? Or will it be someone else? :))

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 **Chapter Four: The Company**

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Idhrenohtar and Ram en' stood together, and a little further away, the rest of The Company talked quietly amongst themselves. All they knew was that their return to duty had been postponed, for that was all Elladan had told them, albeit he had said so with an enigmatic smile on his otherwise frozen face.

Koron en' Naur spoke quietly with Galadan and the Noldo Glamohtar, whose father he had met and fought beside upon the plains of the Dagorlad. Next to them, Lindohtar and Rhawthir murmured their own suppositions, their arms and hands more expressive than the Noldor and the Sindar. Only Hwindohtar and Rafnohtar were missing and would surely come together from the fortress.

Other eyes were upon them though, for the warriors, instructors and novices looked on in curiosity and some, with just a little jealousy. There were hidden eyes, too, from the far side of the courtyard, Turion's blue eyes watching in pride as he spotted Legolas striding towards those he had chosen for his patrol, a Noldorin lieutenant at his side.

"Good morning!" said Hwindohtar, loud and strong, and The Company stood to attention for the first time before him for this was not their childhood friend, nor was it the young novice warrior they had met and come to respect. This was Captain Hwindohtar, his uniform marked him as such yet more than this it was his bearing; tall and proud, a subtle smile upon his face they had not seen for too long, a look of such strength and confidence upon his singular face that infused them with a sense of safety and trust, in spite of his scant years.

Rafnohtar took his place beside the expectant elves and stood to attention, his breath baited for the words that would now surely change the course of their lives.

"As Lieutenant Rafnohtar has already told you, your postings have been cancelled," he began, and then took a deep breath, taking his time and measuring his words. "You have all now, been officially designated to a new patrol. This patrol will be commanded by myself."

He suppressed the urge to stop and allow them to manifest their joy, _his_ joy, for he could see the pent up energy, the wide eyes and trembling lips; but no, to do so would be to falter, fall into the joy that was clawing at his defences, pleading to be set free.

"My First Lieutenant will be Dorhinen," he said, his eyes watching the minute spark of surprise behind the blue, Sindarin eyes of Korn en' Naur. "My Second Lieutenant will be Galadan," he smiled for the first time as he watched understanding dawn on the Sinda's face. He had been officially accepted into The Company.

"Lieutenant Elladan will replace either my First or Second Lieutenant should the need arise. Lieutenant Galadan, I would like you to commence command training with Idhrenohtar whenever your duties permit. With a sideways glance, Legolas watched as his friend's eyes bulged. "Elladan," continued the commander, "now is the time for you to put your project into motion and I expect your briefing on the matter of your warrior healers at your earliest convenience.

A stunned nod was all the reply he got as he continued to reveal their objective and destiny.

"Our immediate posting is to Imladris." A gasp escaped Elladan yet he quickly schooled himself and stood to attention once more, somewhat embarrassed. "There, we will continue our training. I must complete the Master of the Five as my king commands, and every one of you must complete a Master in at least one weapon. We will learn strategy, tactics, perfect your aerial skills and we will train, and then we will train again. We have one year, brothers. One year to become the best we can be. This is the birth of The Company, the best of Greenwood's warriors, the strongest of mind, courageous beyond the norm, dedicated to the service of our people even unto our own deaths if that is what it takes," he whispered. "You are my chosen few for once this is done, we will return to the Forest and protect her, as Yavanna has ordered it, as the Silvan people require of me, and should our commanders require our aid, they will have it."

He breathed deeply and looked to the floor, before asking them the question he knew he must.

"You are free to accept this posting - or decline it but know _this_ ," he emphasised, his green eyes sharpening somewhat unnervingly. "Should you accept, you will give your lives to this cause. There can be no half-hearted attempt. The Forest calls us, the Silvan people call us and I - can do no more than follow. My question is - will _you_ follow _me_?"

Stunned silence followed as The Company stood ramrod still and the warriors that had stopped to listen did likewise, their eyes now moving to the Company with baited breath.

Idhrenohtar stepped forward and squared himself. "I will follow you to the very pits of the _vortex!_ " he thundered, and then stepped back as Ram en' Ondo spoke. "I have always followed you - I always will, he said simply with a smile."

Legolas' jaw clenched and he desperately clung to his self-control as one by one, the rest of The Company swore their allegiance and when it was Elladan's turn, the Noldo smiled as he spoke. "There is something about you, something we have all felt yet could never understand. I will follow you, Legolas son of Lassiel, of Thranduil, of the Forest; Beriannor - my friend," he smiled, his own eyes brighter than they had been.

There was complete silence for a scant few seconds before a roar resounded around the courtyard - not from The Company but from the onlookers whose fists cut through the air, clenched with passion, a new light in their wide eyes.

Hwindo's young face lifted to meet them, only this time he was smiling.

"Then The Company is born and you are mine and I am yours. We will make this forest safe once more, wherever we go, whatever we do - whatever it takes - we of The Company, will see it done. Stand at ease," he said, and then braced himself to meet the wall of warriors that moved towards him, and then shielded him from the onlookers who smiled and shared knowing nods.

"When do we ride?"

"How long will we be there?"

They were all asking questions and Legolas held up his hands for silence, smiling as he did so.

"It is a _dream_ , Legolas - more than I could ever have wished for…" said Lindohtar in awe, looking around him to the others.

"I have never felt such purpose in my life," said Glamohtar as he stepped forward. "Such a surge of pride and purpose I cannot describe with words. This is my life's work, my path. I bless the day I met you, Captain," he said with determination, his grey eyes sparkling.

"As do I!" said Lindohtar, and then Rhrawthir.

"We have always known - and yet we are no less joyful now that it is done," said Idhrenohtar, still reeling with the knowledge that he would train as lieutenant.

"And I," said Koron en' Naur, am thankful to my king that he assigned me to you, Legolas, grandson of Oropher. I did not want it and yet he insisted and I wonder now if fate has not had a hand in this. I was proud to protect my Lord Oropher, and I am honoured now, to serve you."

By the time they had finished, Legolas stood rigid and bright-eyed, unable to speak for long moments.

"For today, you are at the mercy of our tailors and when they have finished, you will be at mine. I will introduce you to our standard training routine, one I expect you all to carry out every day, no exceptions." With a glance at the sun, he turned back to them. "In two hours' time I want you measured and fed and standing before me in naught but your leggings and boots, understood?"

"Aye!" they thundered and Legolas' gaze lingered on them for a while before he nodded, and then watched as they were rushed away by the waiting tailors and seamstresses. There were new uniforms to craft, uniforms that no one had ever seen before.

Turning, he breathed deeply for he had just given his first briefing as a captain, and he rather thought it had gone well. From the other side of the courtyard, he spotted Turion watching him once more. The Sinda nodded slowly, and then turned away to his own group of novice warriors, leaving Legolas with a satisfying sense of belonging, of profound gratitude and an ever growing sense of purpose. He remembered the captain's penchance for training new recruits - indeed he had given up a command so that he could do so and yet, with everything that had happened, when Legolas' identity had been discovered, Celegon had wrenched from Turion a promise, a promise to accept his command and serve as captain in the city in exchange for the right to take Legolas out on his first call of duty as a novice warrior, so that he could train him personally, and Hwindo would for ever be grateful for his sacrifice.

Walking somewhat absently into his designated office on the ground floor of the barracks, he sat behind his desk for the first time and looked around the well-appointed room. The desk was spacious and the two chairs that sat before it were plush. On one side of the room was a hearth with a sofa and chairs, and on the other was a simple bed, one he knew other captains used regularly in their own offices, especially when returning from patrols, or when there was a crisis afoot.

There were bookshelves behind him, as yet empty for he had not had time to fill them, indeed his desk was bare, with only an ink well and a candelabra to decorate it. He would bring his own diaries tomorrow, and procure for himself candles and parchment, for he had much writing to do, and letters to send. All that was in his way now, was the dinner appointment in the king's quarters this evening and then he would be free, free of distracting duties and he could truly focus on his upcoming mission.

'Duty', he had called his family a 'duty.' It did not sit well with him, indeed had he not enjoyed the evening he had spent with his father? The lunch with his siblings? Why was he still avoiding them? He asked himself in exasperation, yet the question was rhetorical, indeed he had asked it only as a means of berating himself. He avoided them because in their presence, he felt inadequate, clumsy - he felt like a _child_.

He started as a simply-dressed Silvan elf stood in the doorway, waiting for permission to enter.

"What is it?" asked Hwindo, standing at his empty desk.

"Captain, Sir. I have been asked to assist you with the protocols, Sir."

"What protocols?" asked Hwindo with a scowl.

"Our rules and customs, Sir. Here, the Inner Circle have unwritten laws I am here to help you understand."

"Why can they not just give me a list!" he asked.

"I am also your assistant, Sir, if you will have me of course."

"Assistant? Why would I need an assistant?" asked Legolas with a scowl. He did not want a servant - he was not royalty.

"Well Sir. You will be writing reports and missives you will need delivering safely. You will need to find warriors and suppliers, you will need your weapons tending and your boots cleaning. You will need sustenance when you are too busy to attend the mess, or a fire on a cold morning - like today.

"I can do that myself," he said, as his eyes roved over the elf that stood patiently at the door. "It is a waste of your abilities in the field, _warrior_."

"I can no longer serve in the field, Captain. 'Tis why I am here; it is the only way I can still be of service to my land, by helping others to do so…"

Legolas turned and walked towards the short, Silvan warrior. He could see it now, for the elf stood slightly to one side.

"What happened?" asked Hwindo.

"An arrow in the back, hit me below a vertebra and left irreversible nerve damage. I can no longer move fast enough to be of active service."

"Is this the case with other, 'assistants' here at the Inner Circle?" he asked.

"Yes. We are all ex-combat."

"You dress as civilians…" observed Hwindo.

"Yes - what would the point be, Sir, of using our uniforms?"

Hwindo turned back to the elf and walked towards him, his eyes fixed on the blue eyes of the Silvan.

"The point, _warrior_ \- is that you are still a warrior. You cannot fight in the field but you can still fight, by helping others as you have already said. I say you are a veteran and you are a warrior - it would please me - if you would use your uniform."

The Silvan stared back at the strange captain, considering his words. "If it would please you, Captain…"

But Hwindo was already speaking. "It would please me, and it will please _you_. You are a _warrior_! I know you are proud of that - _show_ \- that you are proud."

The warrior stood wide-eyed and pensive, and Hwindo rather thought he did not know what to do with himself.

"What is your name?" he asked softly.

"Antien."

"Antien, I need some things, if you would."

"Of course Captain."

"Parchment, ink, quills, and there are chests in my quarters at the fortress that must be brought here."

"I will see to it, Captain."

"Hwindo simply nodded, his mind already returning to his own agenda. Antien was already at the door but he stopped and hesitated, before turning to face his new Captain.

"It is a pleasure to serve the Warlord, Captain."

Hwindo looked up and smiled. "It is a pleasure to be assisted by a veteran of this army."

Shock was clearly written on the Silvan warrior's face, but he said no more as he bowed and left the room. Within moments, Hwindo was back at his table, his mind racing and his hand itching to write.

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"Why me?" asked Koron en' Naur, almost to himself as he held his arms out to the side so that the seamstress could measure his flanks.

Idhrenohtar turned to face him. "You are the most experienced lieutenant. You could have been Captain yourself had you wanted a command."

Koron en' looked to the floor, remembering the years of misery after the death of Oropher, of what he had perceived at the time, as his fault. Yet time had tempered his guilt, and Thranduil's posting of him as Legolas' bodyguard had been the final step on the road to self-forgiveness. He had finally come to terms with it, had found his self-esteem once more.

"I am Sindarin, and he is the Silvan Warlord - will they not expect our lieutenant to be Silvan?"

"If they do," said Idhreno, the hint of a warning in his voice, "he will inform them of their folly. He is not here to repeat the mistakes of the past. To him there is no Sindar-Silvan split - only warriors and their merits - your roots are indifferent to him."

Koron looked long and hard into his comrade's face and finally he nodded, and then a slow smile spread on his face, wiping the frown away and totally transforming it.

"I am honoured. I will not fail you."

"I know," said Idhreno. "And I will not fail you," he smiled, and then squeezed Koron's shoulder, before the tailor tutted and his hand slipped away and back to the front where it was promptly measured.

"Poor Lindo," scoffed Koron. "I think she likes him," he nudged Idhreno in the side as he watched the Silvan seamstress measure his waist, her softly-smiling face a little too close to the Bard Warrior.

"Pretty lad," smirked Idhreno as he turned around and held his arms out to the side.

"Ram en' now," said Idhreno with a sly smile, "is having a grand time," he laughed now as he watched the Wall of Stone smile as the tailor tried and failed to reach the top of his bicep.

"He will need a box," snickered Rhrawthir from the other side of Koron.

Glamohtar snorted a little too loud and Galadan smiled at the unusual display of humour. As for himself, his eyes travelled from Koron en' to Ram en', from Lindohtar to Rhawthir, and then to Rafnohtar and Idhrenohtar; The Company, he mused, the Warlord's elves, a multi-cultural band of warriors with the rare privilege of fighting where they would, commanded only by their captain. This was a new beginning, one Galadan understood for what it was - from this day, he was bound to these elves, perhaps even unto death, who could say. The only puzzle still in his mind was the name he would be assigned. The Valar see fit, he mused, that it would be a dignified one!

Two hours later, eight elves stood to attention before the captain. Four Silvans, two Noldor and two Sindar.

All of them, including the commander, stood in their black breaches and boots, their chests and arms bare save for the bands upon their right biceps that marked some of them as master warriors.

Hwindo walked slowly past them, his eyes lingering here and there, until he stood before them once more and spoke.

"Some of you are lacking muscle tone and that must be remedied, for once we begin our master training in Imladris, you will suffer more than is mete. You must prepare yourselves for that, and we start now.

Forget everything you learned as a novice - forget the standard training routines for I am changing them. Keep your minds open and do not judge lightly - execute my instructions down to the last letter - do you understand?" he asked.

"Aye!" shouted the warriors of The Company and so, Hwindohtar began to explain what would become the talk of the barracks and eventually, the forest beyond.

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"I would celebrate with you this night but duty calls me away. Tomorrow though, no one will stop us. We will dine and have wine and sing amongst the trees - that is, if you can, for some of you may wish to crawl home and hybernate like the brown bears of the Evergreen Wood…"

"Never! Nay!" they shouted and then smiled as they slapped each other upon the backs, and Hwindo smiled a sly smile, briefly catching Elladan's knowing eyes as he did so. They had bathed as they groaned and complained and massaged sore muscles, to which Hwindo had laughed and told them that this was but the beginning of their torture.

"Then I will see you tomorrow at the seventh hour. Eat well, sleep well, for tomorrow will be much worse than today," he said plainly, and then smirked and left together with Elladan for the barracks.

"Imladris," mused Elladan out loud. "It will be good to be home for a while."

Hwindo half turned to his friend as they walked. "You only have five more years leave, Elladan…"

"Yes," he conceded softly, "but that may change, Hwindo. There are - things I must consider …"

Hwindo scowled as he partially turned his face to his friend. "You wish to stay longer?" he asked, his voice light, tone heavy.

"Yes," said Rafno carefully, "yes I wish to stay," he said, louder now and then he stopped and turned to his puzzled captain.

"I wish to stay - for the rest of my life…"

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Hwindohtar smiled as they approached the king's suite, wide and genuine for that crushing sense of anxiety that had assailed him since his return to the fortress had gone. Rafnohtar clapped him upon the shoulder, his eyes travelling over the imposing figure his friend cut. His shining uniform and elaborate hair were the perfect additions to a physical beauty that never ceased to amaze the son of Elrond.

Soon they were before the impressive, carved oak doors that would lead them to the king and his guests, and Elladan glanced at his friend - at his profile for a moment. The intense green gaze landed upon him and he was suddenly struck by how much his friend had changed over the past four years. Taken aback for a moment, Rafno righted his expression and then nodded, almost to himself rather than his friend, as if it was _he_ who was in need of encouragement.

The double doors opened and the guards stood to one side, granting access to the captain and his Noldorin lieutenant. Hwindo stopped dead in his tracks and Elladan, startled, pulled up sharply beside him. The king stood talking with Chief Councillor Aradan and Llyniel, his daughter. Crown Prince Rinion stood beside his younger brother, Handir, laughing together with Maeneth, their sister. But there were other faces, faces Elladan knew Legolas had not been expecting to see.

A myriad of emotions crossed his friend's his face but of them all, joy was foremost. It seemed to Elladan that it was an ever increasing spiral of joy which, try as Hwindo might, could never hold at bay for there, standing before them was Amareth, and at her side, Marhen, Hwindo's aunt. Beside them, smiling softly, was Thavron the forester, and a little further away, stood Erthoron the Silvan spokesman, together with Narosen the Spirit Herder.

Legolas stood for longer than was comfortable, as if his mind laboured with its next move, its next thought or sensation. His people had come but _how_? He could not fathom it. There had surely not been enough time and yet, his mind's eye showed him Dunorel's enigmatic expression from the previous day, the one he had not registered at the time. The Captain had planned this, had known what would happen once they returned to the fortress and had surely sent word to Llan Galadh so that his promotion would not pass by unnoticed. It was the only explanation, however incredible it seemed to Legolas.

"May I present to you all, Captain Legolas, Commander of The Company," said Aradan formally in his strong, authoritative voice.

Marhen smiled saucily and Thavron beamed but Amareth simply stared at her son, her face frozen and yet her eyes had filled with unshed tears of pride and love. Before long she was walking towards the child she had reared in the stead of her sister, Lassiel. All through the long years of his childhood had he talked incessantly of this moment, his entire life had revolved around this, one moment in time - to be a _Captain._

Legolas walked towards her, meeting her half way and then embraced her, her much smaller frame disappearing for long moments until they finally broke apart and looked at each other in wonder.

"How did you know to come?" asked Legolas, his eyes momentarily flitting to the other Silvans that had accompanied her.

"Your Captain, Dunorel. He sent word a week ago that we should come. We did not know what for, but he assured us it was nothing bad."

Legolas smiled as he scowled, surprised that his supposition was, indeed correct. Dunorel, cold and unyielding, impervious it had seemed to his suffering, had seen fit to bring his family to the fortress, so that he would have this moment together with those that meant the most to him. Those were not the acts of a heartless, ruthless Captain - they were the gestures of an elf who feels deeply, in spite of the outward appearance he projected.

"I am so very proud of you my son, so full of love and admiration for you. I will proclaim it to the four corners of the forest - you are _Captain_!"

Soon, Legolas was embracing his childhood friend Thavron, and then Erthoron who had been like an uncle to him in his childhood. The enigmatic Narosen, who he had become incomprehensibly close to, in spite of his strangeness, stepped forward and tapped Legolas upon the chest where he knew the Circle of Life rested below the breast plate.

"We, the forest, are proud," he said, his eyes sparkling with intelligence, a challenging smile upon his lips.

Legolas stared back at him, wondering if he had understood what the Spirit Herder had said; _'We, the forest…"_ the trees, he meant the _trees_ , and it was true. Lifting his head for a moment, he listened, listened beneath the quiet chatter and occasional laughter, listened to the sounds that only he could hear, and Narosén - to an extent. He smiled and then turned back to the Silvan mystic, nodding and then smiling again, wider now.

Servants milled around the royal family and their guests, filling wine glasses and offering sweet delights. Elladan smiled at Maeneth from afar, absurdly hopeful at her own, open regard of him. Walking slowly towards her, his now dark grey eyes fixed on her lovely face, and that sense of home came back to him, shocking him once more at the strength of the feeling. Indeed, he had sworn his oath to Legolas without the consent of his father. He had not considered it at the time, for the heat of the moment had swept away his ability for reasonable thought, he had spoken from the heart and now, his brain tortured him for how was he to release himself from his father's service?

Her eyes were before him now and she lifted her glass, clinking it against his own and then sipping on it, her eyes never leaving him, challenging him, almost, but to do what? He snorted mentally then for full well he knew her thoughts and he wondered, if tonight would be a good time to do it…

Protocol would not be ignored though, and so the captain stepped towards the king and held his head high, and then saluted. The king nodded as was custom, and then he spoke.

"Captain Legolas. The king and this realm welcome your service as a commander of its armed forces. May you serve long and well, and may Yavanna protect you always," he said, his eyes bright and wide.

He turned then, taking a wrapped object from a servant who stood discretely to one side.

"This," said the king with a flourish as he flung the cloth to one side, "is a weapon of Doriath, a sword of such length and weight that none have taken it as their own - for who, they say, can wield such a weapon? Elladan peered down at the stunning object as he listened to the king.

"I say _you_ can, that you can learn to use this, with Lord Glorfindel's tutorship, that you can become a sword master with this blade I name Yaavan - Harvest - "

He held it out towards Legolas with both hands and Hwindo could do no more than stare down at it in awe. Slowly, reverently, he took the ancient metal in his hands, his eyes latching on to the runes along the inner edge, and then around the pommel, _Legolas Thranduilion_. His head snapped up to look at his father in shock and awe.

It took a while for him to find his voice, for his father had given his own name to him, burned into the blade of this, magnificent sword so that all could read it. "I shall strive to become worthy of such a thing you have gifted me with, my King."

"That is a mighty blade," murmured Rinion, "and a challenge you may not be able to live up to," he said with a sparkle in his eye. Legolas turned to Rinion, who was yet to salute him and Elladan rather thought that he would not, but that did not seem to bother Legolas at all.

"Perhaps - but with the effort will come improvement and learning - I can do no more than that."

Rinion nodded his agreement, and then turned to Maeneth who tonight, seemed to have eyes only for Elladan and his jaw tightened once more.

Conversation began to flow and Elladan watched Legolas greet Aradan, and then Llyniel who curtseyed formally. Legolas took her hand and kissed it slowly and only then, did Elladan see a tight smile grace her lovely face. His own heart flipped at the thought of what he knew he must do, and suddenly, Legolas' eyes were upon him.

"What has you so distant, Rafno?" he asked with a knowing smile.

"I think it must be now…" he muttered.

"It?"

"I must ask the king - I want - to court your sister, Hwindo - I can wait no longer to know if my suit is acceptable."

"Your feelings for her have grown since I have been away, and I know she returns them. It may be a good time to at least insinuate your intentions."

"Good, good," he said, his nervousness growing with every passing minute.

"Elladan, go to the king, tell him you wish to speak to him on a personal matter tomorrow… he will understand what it is you wish to speak of."

"For one that has known him for but a few months, you are hardly an expert," scoffed Elladan.

"Perhaps not, but there is some of him in me, we are not unlike…"

Elladan caught his green gaze then, and realised he had been a little abrupt.

"Will you not ask to court Llyniel then? Formally I mean?"

Legolas seemed to ponder the question for a moment before answering. "Not yet - I have so many priorities now, I cannot allow myself to become distracted."

"Well, if you are not sure…"

"Time will tell Elladan, although for you it already has," he smiled and then gestured to the king with his head.

Rafnohtar took a deep breath, squared himself, and then walked towards the king, who was talking quietly with Aradan and Handir.

"Lord Elladan," acknowledged the Royal Advisor.

"Councillor," nodded Rafno, and then turned to the king. "My King, I wonder if I could have a word with you tomorrow, on a private matter…"

"And why not now? For if I am not mistaken, you will fret until we speak and you will tell me what the point would be… come," he said simply, steering Elladan out onto the great overhang.

It was the same forest of evergreen trees that had taken them so when first they had opened their balcony doors in their rooms, yet this – this panorama was nothing short of breathtaking, for the forest stretched out before and around them, the platform thrusting the observer into the very heart of the forest, giving the impression that one simply hovered over it, rather than standing on solid rock. From their quarters, the forest was somehow distant, yet here, the forest was right there, a fingertip away, embracing the edges of the platform, almost, yet not quite caressing it.

Elladan's eyes were full of tears, not of sadness, but of the sheer sensation of grandeur he was infused with. This was magical, a parcel of Elvendom he had never experienced, and he was stunned that this was so, for this marvel of nature was totally unknown to his kin in Imladris – it seemed impossible somehow, that this - wonder - _could_ be unheard of – _anywhere,_ and yet it was – what a strange, magical and mysterious land this was, he mused.

"This forest was young, indeed it was mostly barren foothills, with only a few saplings dotted here and there," began the king, momentarily startling Elladan from his admiration. "The view has always been spectacular over the Lonely Mountain, but nothing comparable to what we have achieved here, in the last two thousand years."

"But _how_ , my king? "How has it been achieved?"

"We were starting to lose the southernmost parts of the forest, enemy activity began to grow as we were forced further North, here, where we have made our stand. Yet we wanted – nay, _needed,_ to restore what we once had to the South of the forest, for many years ago, that forest was just as splendid as this one. It is still beautiful in some parts, but no longer comparable."

"And what, exactly, did you do?" insisted Elladan. "I mean, there, for instance, further North, are the dwarves – you have Laketown to the east of you – _men_. How have you been able to isolate it – keep it safe?"

"They do not come here. The dwarves rarely leave their mountain, except to hunt, but they do not venture here, for they believe it haunted, something we have fomented, I must admit. It is the same for men, only because we are on friendly trading terms with them, we do not foment superstition. We simply tell them it is our _garden_ , off-bounds to any and all, and they have respected that."

"Oropher," continued the king, "gave the Silvans and Avari a boon, in exchange for their alliance to their Sindarin king. We call this moment in our history 'The Great Unification', for our three nations came together as one. In return, my father gifted the wood dwellers a forest, a forest to create and nurture – with the condition that it be shared by all. However," continued Thranduil as his eyes scanned the far horizon, "strict rules were placed on the land. There would be no commercial activity – no agriculture, no felling, no hunting – nothing. Any excursion into the Evergreen Wood must be formally notified to the Home Guard, who would have the authority to grant or decline such visits, should the nature of them be unclear. And so, after more than two thousand years – this is the result of their efforts. This is why they will not sail – unless pain and despair take them, they will not leave this marvel they have created. I will show it to you – when time permits."

There was silence for a while as the king's words registered in his mind, as he imagined the task that was set to the natives of this land. To others, it would seem more a punishment, yet to them, to be gifted with creating a forest, was a shrewd political manoeuvre indeed, thought Elladan.

"I would be most honoured, my king," replied Elladan softly as he turned to look once more at the imposing monarch, waiting for Thranduil to return his gaze.

"My King, the matter I wished to address is - of a personal nature - and I wonder perhaps, if you have guessed my intentions."

Thranduil stared blankly at him, giving away nothing at all and Elladan damned his luck, for his tactic had just been blown to pieces.

"I have feelings for your daughter, for Maeneth," he blurted, his own surprise plain on his face.

And still the king did not speak. Elladan wondered if he did it purposefully and the very thought irritated him for what he did now, was no easy task at all.

"I believe they are reciprocated and as such, I wish to ask permission to court the princess, should you deem my suit appropriate."

There, he had said it and he resisted the urge to sag where he stood.

Surprisingly, Thranduil continued to say nothing as he turned his face back to the Evergreen Wood and Elladan was momentarily caught by his striking profile and the workmanship of his crown.

Looking to the floor, he realised that there was every chance of the king rejecting his request and an uncharacteristic wave of self-doubt slammed into him.

When the king finally spoke, it took the introspective Noldo by surprise for it was soft and wistful yet cut the silence as if he shouted his words to the heavens.

"You are a member of The Company. You will be away more than you are at court. What sort of life would that be for my daughter? For a consort of this realm?"

Elladan breathed deeply, indeed he had anticipated this reaction from the king.

"That is true, my King. Indeed I believe it is the very reason that Legolas does not ask to court Llyniel. And yet, my feelings for her are too strong to ignore. There would be sacrifices, I know, but should you accept my suit, you would have no more loyal son at your side."

"You would leave your father's realm? Serve me?"

"I have already sworn allegiance to Legolas and yet for Maeneth I would swear that oath a thousand times if I could have her at my side."

Thranduil held Elladan's steady gaze squarely, saw the determination, the hope and the courage it had taken to speak thusly.

"I will think on it, Elrondion," he said, turning back to the Evergreen Wood. It was the end of the conversation, Elladan knew, and so he nodded, and then turned, leaving the king alone upon the overhang.

Inside, his eyes searched involuntarily for Maeneth, and found her already looking at him. Smiling they came together and they spoke quietly.

"Is it done?" she asked with a smile.

"Aye, it is done. He said he would think on it."

"That is good, Elladan. We have a chance."

"His concern is my condition as a member of The Company. I will be away and in danger, he does not want that life for you. "

"It is not for him to decide. Perhaps I will need to remind him of his own father's folly in denying the love our father had for Lassiel…" she said, her frosty eyes landing momentarily on Legolas, who talked and laughed with Handir.

Elladan's eyebrow cocked for he had not thought of that, but Maeneth was speaking once more.

"He has finally done it," she said softly. "Four years ago we spoke of this for even then he had it all so clearly defined in his mind. He has a route map, Elladan, a path so clearly defined it is uncanny. History will be made I believe, before our very eyes."

"Oh aye," said Rafno. "The youngest Commander in Elvendom, as far as we know. You should have seen him today, Maeneth. His first day as Captain of The Company. The other warriors stopped to listen to him and by the time he had finished with us, he had infused them all with a renewed sense of purpose. We will need it though, for the forest is turning darker with every day that passes - we all know that something is happening, some new enemy is orchestrating against us and yet, their identity eludes us…"

"Is it truly that dire, Elladan?" she asked, albeit the question was rhetorical, for Maeneth already knew it was true.

Something was coming, something new, dangerous - unexpected.


End file.
